Uplifted: Intervention
by DarkDanny
Summary: Definitive Edition: It has been three months since first contact between the Third Reich and the Migrant Fleet. New technologies revitalize a beleaguered German war machine as the Admirals take a closer look at their new allies as Joachim Hoch and Hanala'Jarva come to terms with how complicated their relationship is.
1. May 27th, 1942

**Chapter One: May 27th 1942**

 **...**

Since the beginning of war and strife, the masses always kept check over the victories their side won. They tried to count the enemy dead and counted the days until peace would return. Until then they focused on the big things to boost their morale; Stopping the Luftwaffe cold over the English skies, stopping the Heer from reaching Moscow. Little did they know how much the war had changed in little peculiar ways.

Fortunately for the average Joe, William J. Donovan wasn't the same as the others who were observing the war safely in his offices in New York City. His attention was focused on these little things which escaped the public's eye, either because it was too small to notice, too big to spot the important, intricate detail or was flat out classified for military or morale reasons.

And thus far, it was these little things, these details or secrets kept the director of the Office of Strategic Services up in the dead of the night.

It had all started three months ago. The British had launched Operation Rage; a commando raid that was supposed to be a quick recon job inside the belly of the German Reich, Vienna. The team did not check in. It was presumed they were all dead, right down to the famed leader, Jack Churchill. This failed operation, in Donovan's mind, set off a chain reaction of events that made the war a scarier event then most people could be allowed to know.

At first it was little things that shocked the British. Rommel launched his anticipated offensive early. In two weeks, he had kicked the Commonwealth armies out of the whole of Italian Libya, with exception to Tobruk. He then did something no one could have anticipated. He dug in as though it had been the Great War all over again. Rommel, and by extension, those he represented appeared, to be up to something. The man had a shoddy track record of paying attention to logistics and standing still for too long. It seemed as though like his defense of Tripoli had knocked some sense into him.

Second, entire bomber squadrons were vanishing over the Channel and Germany. They would launch, nearly reach their targets, and then disappear. It wasn't a one hundred percent thing. A good seventy percent of the missions were getting through, but that number was dropping at a frightening rate.

Pilots of the RAF that returned from their attacks gossiped of how effective the Germans had gotten in finding them. Their anti-aircraft defenses were organized to respond with higher efficiency. When the ground defenses didn't get them, the Luftwaffe always knew exactly where and when they were coming. The air war in Germany was quickly becoming a second Battle of Britain for the RAF. Only this time they were on the losing side. It appeared as though the German's had developed radar on par if not, better than their own.

As resolved as the British were with their attacks on Germany, it was the secret war against the Germans which the Allied nations were waging that brought forth the most terror. The combined efforts to crack each of the Enigma codes lost all of its purposes. One by one, the codes were being exchanged with text that was indecipherable. Each of the intelligence services gave it a go. Hell, the moment this code was initialized in the Kreigsmarine, MI5 in a moment of fear, handed the codes off to the Soviets own NKVD for research. There was no word yet if it helped. Donovan figured that the Russians would never come back to them with an answer. By in large, the west left Russia's collective asses twisting in the wind to a German onslaught that tore through their nation and, as spring arrived, was looking like it would resume once again.

Regardless of the tough choice made by the English, The MI5 had good reason to fear the new enigma code reaching the German naval forces. French resistance groups reported an influx of U-Boats coming back to dry dock early. One by one, they would return, then a painting crew would come and coat the vessel in a material then 24 hours later, the U-boat was rearmed and launched back to the Atlantic.

Every day the shipping lanes grew more and more dangerous. Ultimately the lifeline of the English was being cut off as these improved U-boats that could slip past sonar systems undetected and reined a renewed terror on merchant ships and the combined navies of Great Britain, Canada and the United States of America.

In the long run, these... improvements made upon the U-Boats would be felt much more drastically in other ways. It made the concept of transporting troops, vehicles and supplies to England that much more daunting. It would have to be done quickly before the entire submarine fleet of the Germans could inflict a devastating blow to the US army before they could even put their first Wehrmacht grunt in their rifle scope.

It was these little things the Germans were doing brought the war to an even bloodier state. Between the German standstill in Russia and the efforts in North Africa, Donovan wasn't sure where this war would take them, but there was one thing he could accurately guess. With these seemingly simple shifts in German policy, this war was bound to get even worse for the nations fighting the behemoth threat of fascism.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was just another typical day in Panenské Břežany, for the protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.

He got dressed, had a breakfast as he read over his daily briefings, couriered to him through his driver, kissed his wife, Lina goodbye, his hands touching against the bulge of her stomach which carried their unborn child, he took a minute or two to play with his children even, each of them loving the affection he held for them. He left his home smiling to himself and walked down the pathway leading to the driveway.

Standing there was his driver, Oberscharführer Hans Klein, a man built like barge standing at attention. He snapped out a salute which his superior officer returned.

"Would you like the top open today, Herr Obergruppenführer?" the driver inquired as he held open the door for his boss.

Chief of Reich Main Security Office, Reinhard Heydrich glanced up to the sky shinning with sunlight, his face still formed into a bright smile as he directed it to Klein.

"Yes, open top sounds very pleasant, thank you," Heydrich returned as he set his briefcase inside the Mercedes. "… yes I think that would be quite nice today."

Taking off his cap, he turned and assisted Klein in unhitching the top of the car roof and securing it just above the trunk. He took a seat in the back, gathering up his briefcase and before he realized it, Klein had pulled out of the driveway. He glanced back and found Lina standing in the doorway, waving her hand shyly.

Heydrich held his smile and waved back to her. Lina did not ask specifics to his work, a good trait for a wife, especially good for today. When he got home he was looking forward to surprising his family. The Führer had requested him back to Berlin; they were to discuss the growing audacity of the French resistance, which was no longer being properly handled by the local police forces. In all likelihood he would be sent there, living in Paris, every woman's dream he imagined.

It would give him much work that would take his focus on his first serious failure to obtain his assistant, Adolf Eichmann as overseer. It was to start by kicking that child, Hoch out of his position, then in a month's time, worm Eichmann into superseding Gerald Langer as head of the project. Unfortunately, it appeared that the duo had earned much respect from this new race that they liaised for.

The quarians….

The potential rewards from this new friendship were enough to make him salivate. Faster than light travel, weapons technology, medicine, this cybernetic technology that gave Hoch a new arm. All of these things and so much more, the quarians were like an iceberg to Heydrich, what they showed to the SS was just the tip of the power they wielded. To say it nearly made Heydrich giddy was understating it. If keeping these quarians happy, was through utilizing Hoch instead, then he would have to keep him around.

For now, he had a counter-partisan action to attend to, but once this assignment in France was dealt with, he would make another attempt at becoming a voice for the aliens to listen to. It would not belong before he became the second most powerful man in the new Reich. Himmler did not possess one tenth the fortitude he had. Weakness would be his downfall-

His thoughts were interrupted. A man had run out in the middle of the road. Though dressed like a civilian, he was armed with a submachine gun, a British Sten gun to be exact. His face was filled a hatred Heydrich rarely witnessed. He raised his weapon, took aim and fired at the head of the RSHA. Heydrich closed his eyes. There was nothing else he could do.

Well... He tried to fire at least. With a clang, the weapon jammed, inciting a panic in the bastard who had tried to kill him. The partisan looked at his weapon and tried to cock it, again and again he tried to a fire. Heydrich opened his eyes and took a breath. He narrowed his eyes at the man… this bastard was going to pay for this.

 _ **"STOP THE CAR!"**_ he screamed to his driver.

Klein stamped on his break, stopping the Mercedes meters away from the thwarted assassin, who stood there frozen. Drawing his own Walther, Heydrich stood up in the back of his car. Pulling back the slide, he lined his pistol up to shoot the bastard Slovak down. Of all the days that an assassination attempt had to happen, it was today… Well, at least good fortune shone on him.

He did not see he the second man pushing his way out of the bushes, he did not hear the thud of an Anti-Tank grenade clanking against the side of the Mercedes and He did not notice Klein scream to Heydrich to take cover.

He did, however, feel the explosion.

He came too quickly, his eyes blurred as he took in Klein yelling in his face, his MP-40 in hand as he turned from Heydrich and ran off into the woods after the second attacker. Blood and saliva drooling out of his mouth, Heydrich stood up, his ears ringing, still gripping his pistol tight in his hand he noticed the Slovak running away from the scene of crime. Heydrich stumbled and tried to run after him, his arm shaking as he blindly fired the pistol at the man.

As the pistol ran out of rounds top fire, Heydrich fumbled for another clip, but instead, dropped his pistol, coughing up blood. For the first time, Heydrich glanced down to his body. His uniform was in tatters, his chest bleeding heavily from a multitude of shrapnel wounds. His clouded mind was surprised at how he continued to live.

Forgetting the attack, Heydrich hit the pavement, but was not alone for long. Klein was running back like an unstoppable freight train, tears in his eyes and covered in blood as he scooped Heydrich into his arms and continued running down the road until he could find help.

With one last look up to Klein, Heydrich blacked out.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"We're here."

Hanala'Jarva took in the home in front of them and smiled. It seemed... different to the taste of the man gesturing to the home. Joachim Hoch. Here in a small community called Hackenfelde in Spandau located on the edge of Berlin. She had expected something a bit more militaristic than the two story brick and wood home standing before them. Joachim never ceased to surprise her.

For the past three months they had spent it touring several nation states in the continent of Europe. It was primarily spent between the north of Italy and the small country known as Denmark. It was pretty, quiet considering the scope of this world wide war. It was lazy days of relaxing, taking in the culture of humanity and passing it along to her superiors as directed by the Admiral serving as liaison on Earth, Halid'Zorah.

Personally, she was quite glad to have this assignment. She wasn't cut out for command like she thought, nor should have been so good at fighting in wars and taking lives so easily. To do something bit more academic meant that the horrors of armed conflict were pushed to the back of her mind. It also served to keep Joachim busy teaching her whatever subject she would find for him. It was... difficult for him for the first month.

Kiel was a nightmare. It wasn't hit particularly hard by the bombs, but Hoch's mother... well… she took a near direct hit. There wasn't much left of her to bury when a five hundred pound bomb landed that close to her. Keelah, that was a horrible thing to say, even if it was the brutal truth of the matter, At least... at least she got to say good bye to her grandmother before her time came.

So focused on her the events of the past few months, she did not realize that she was alone in the car. She jumped when the door suddenly up and in stretched Joachim's hand.

"Welcome to my home, Hanala," Joachim finally spoke, his hand leading her closer to the home, the two of them stepping off pavement and onto the walkway. Joachim paused, and with a much more carefully controlled tone, added, "It's your home should you be open to it."

Hanala quirked her lips, her eyes turning to stare at the home before her, still looking at the place curiously, she forced herself to look back at him.

"Is that your way of making things official?" she decided to tease, her eyes narrowed onto the human who stared at his house. "Three months is quite a long time to not make up your mind on where we stand."

Joachim rolled his eyes as his machine hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys.

"Perhaps once you figure out what's happening with your family," he started again, he voice low and neutral. "The last thing I would want to do is make you a pariah. Courting a human... doesn't seem like it's welcomed by your family."

As Joachim opened the door and ushered Hanala inside. He did not notice the frown on her face.

Joachim could not have been more right.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

The doors to the waiting room flung open, startling the staff and the shaken and wounded Hans Klein as he sat there being double checked by several doctors and nurses.

It was Adolf Eichmann, his usual impassiveness gone; replacing it was a furious explosion of rage as he stormed towards the driver bodyguard that did not do his job. Heydrich, his friend, his teacher... wounded so terribly... how could anyone allow this to happen to him? How could the various intelligence services not have picked up on a plot against their leader's life? This was the Abwehr's doing! That bastard Canaris had to be at fault somehow.

Stopping in front of the driver, Eichmann turned his anger to him instead.

He did not care how wounded the soldier was, or how he was responsible for Heydrich making it to the hospital before he bled out. To Eichmann, Klein had failed to do his job.

"What in Christ's name happened, Klein?! Speak, goddamn you!" he spat out violently, ignoring the protests of the medical staff of the explosion of angry words spoken in a place meant for rest and recovery.

"I- I Don't know, Herr Obersturmbannführer," the driver sputtered, showing just how distraught he was. "It was just drive to Prague; he was off to join the Führer in Berlin."

"I know, I _suppose_ to meet him there," Eichmann cut the Oberscharführer off. "Instead the Führer gets news that Heydrich is wounded. Himmler is on the next flight to Prague and I need an answer to give him and the Führer. So it is in your best interest to provide what you know!"

Klein nodded stupidly.

"Th-They ambushed us on our way to the airfield..." Klein got out, shaking his head as he set down his glass of water. "One jumped out on to the road, he had a gun but it jammed, I think... Heydrich told me to stop. He was going to shoot the assassin when we got hit by the second bastard. Hit us with a grenade, I-I gave chase but... Heydrich, he was hurt bad... he needed..."

Listening to the man near sob as he tried to retell what had happened in all the details he could give gave Eichmann a moment or two to cool down, gather his thoughts and prepare for his next moves. Heydrich needed his help now and Adolf wasn't going to let him down, not now. What Heydrich needed now was help that could not be provided by local doctors, not anyone on this planet.

"I am sorry I lost my temper before. You did the right thing, Oberscharführer," Eichmann spoke again, his hand patting the soldier on his shoulder. "The whole of the Gestapo is working in overtime to find these bastards. They will be in contact with you to get a description of the attackers. Go and rest up."

As Klien nodded and struggled to leave, Eichmann turned away; he needed to find a telephone first. He needed to make contact with people he didn't want to make contact with. Before he could however he ran into a group of doctors were talking quietly to one another, all of them falling dead silent as they noticed his approach. The lead physician turned and offered him a half-hearted _'Heil Hitler'_.

"I am Professor Hollbaum, I will be preforming his surgery," the doctor spoke, offering his hand to the Obersturmbannführer. Eichmann shook it briefly before pulling his hand back.

"Thank you for being here, I ask that you keep him stabilized until I say otherwise. I have to make several calls to make before I can give you an answer," Eichmann spoke, choosing not to pay any mind to the protesting look on the Professor's face. "If the Reichsführer is to make it here before I come back, tell him by no circumstances will you perform the surgery. Direct him to me should he get upset."

He did not wait to get an answer. Instead the officer continued down the hallway and to the front reception. Dismissing the administration, Eichmann took a seat behind the desk and grabbed the phone line, his hands dialling a number that he did not want to dial, but needed to for Heydrich.

The phone line rung four times before the answer came.

"This is Standartenführer Langer speaking."

Eichmann took a deep breath and swallowed his pride.

"Herr Langer, this is Eichmann," He spoke with a shaky voice. "Heydrich was nearly murdered by partisans... he's in bad shape... I... I need your help."

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"You're going to be fine, Reinhard, just hang in there my friend."

Parked in a darkened field on the outskirts of Prague, sat a single ambulance, commandeered an hour ago by a mid-level officer and the third most powerful man in the Reich. The words spoken were by Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler, soft and sympathetic; he sat by his student, his hand clutching Heydrich's arm. His eyes were filled with concern as he held vigil over him.

Heydrich's body twitched and rolled, he struggled under the bandage and plastic that was used to keep everything in place while Eichmann drove Heydrich and Himmler out to the middle of nowhere. Himmler glanced away from Reinhard as he moaned in his drug induced state. He looked conflicted with their plan... handing him off to the quarians that would be hear at any moment.

"This was a good call, Eichmann. You are to be commended," Himmler spoke, his words betraying his expression.

Eichmann could only nod at the encouragement. Receiving praise from powerful men usually meant a lot more to him. Not today, not when his boss, his friend, his comrade was torn to shreds by those Slovakian bastards, yet still he lingered on, fighting a momentous battle against death itself.

"He deserves the best," Was Eichmann's sombre response as he held his eyes on his friend still struggling to breathe. "If they could give that pissant Hoch a new arm, then I imagine they could repair Heydrich quite quickly."

Eichmann paused and turned back to the Himmler.

"Once he's up and about, I am more than certain he'll utilize his time with the quarians quite effectively."

Through the darkness of the night, the Obersturmbannführer watched his leader's expression turn into a look of sudden understanding. Should Heydrich recover, he would be directly in contact with the quarians, a small compensation for the attempt on his life.

Before Himmler could formulate a response, a sudden bright light hit them from the sky, the sound of a like hiss and a black silhouette behind the shining light caught the two officer's attention.

It was the quarians.

The ship landed a two or so dozen meters from them, forcing the men to walk towards the vessel, which side doors opened up and out came a seem of white suited quarians, they seemed to briefly take the planet they stood on in briefly before they gathered their medical equipment and ran to meet the approaching SS leaders.

Wordlessly, Himmler gestured to the ambulance. The team nodded and moved past them, leaving the humans by themselves. Not for long however, another quarian jumped out of the still humming ship, wearing a familiar black and green environment suit.

It was Admiral Alaan'Jarva vas Rayya, through the grass and mud he stepped until he reached the two men, his hand offered to Himmler in a strange display of a human greeting made by the quarian. Himmler took and moved the two hands in a shake.

"Reichsführer Himmler, I am sorry that we could not have come sooner," Admiral Jarva spoke, his voice low with sympathy for the two men. "Secrecy must be kept for the time being."

The Reichsführer nodded, understanding the desire to keep their presence a secret. The quarian people had done quite a lot in recent weeks to aid the war effort. A new Enigma machine based on their native Khellish, their ships monitored enemy flights towards the Reich, anti-sonar paint that had made the U-boat quite possibly the most dangerous weapon the Third Reich had, even an oilfield courtesy of Alaan'Jarva's daughter.

"Admiral Jarva, thank you for coming on such short notice." Himmler greeted the alien, his voice with a strange foreign sounding submissive tone. "We are in your debt for allowing your physicians to try to save him, no matter the outcome; you have made a friend in me."

The quarian stared briefly before nodding his head, stepping out of the way for the quarian medical team that carried the unconscious Heydrich back into their ship, his face wrapped in a strange breathing apparatus attached to a small electronic device. It was a miniature iron lung.

"I can appreciate your concern for the General, Herr Reichsführer," Alaan praised as he turned back to the very silent Himmler He will be in safe hands, I promise you."

Eichmann, in a moment of desperation, stepped forward, catching the attention of the Admiral and the third highest ranking man in the Reich.

"With your permission, I would like to join you," Eichmann inquired, a smile forced onto his face to show the Admiral his good intentions.

Admiral Jarva absorbed the request in a matter of seconds and swiftly shook his head.

"With all due respect to you, our command was weary about inviting Joachim'Hoch to be treated there. Heydrich will be cared for as though he was one of our own, but it shall be the only human up there," was the Admirals measured response. "You will be needed with Herr Gerald'Langer. The two of you can coordinate supplies for him; He'll be up there for a few weeks."

Looking to Himmler, who agreed with Jarva's sentiment, Eichmann nodded, defeated.

Offering a final respectful bow to both men, Alaan'Jarva turned and joined the medical team back on the transport ship. He stood in the doorway as the sides closed. With surprisingly little noise, the machine ascended in the sky and roared off faster than anything Himmler and Eichmann had ever seen before.

The two men turned from the landing sight and stepped at a marching pace back to the ambulance they had commandeered from the hospital. Both men were silent as they both worried for Heydrich. The silence was only broken once the two of them climbed into the truck, Eichmann roared the truck to life and headed back to the hospital. He had a family he had to comfort in the wake of this near disaster. Heydrich had three children and a pregnant mother who would be devastated by this news.

"What should we do, Herr Reichsführer? We need a plan," Eichmann managed to find his voice, earning a nod from Himmler as he removed his spectacles and wiped them clean with a piece of cloth.

"First we go to the Führer, tell him the situation. I'll tell him that Heydrich was moved to a facility in Norway, somewhere out of the way." Himmler replied as he put his spectacles again. "We'll listen to his judgement on the Slovakian people before we act."

He paused for a moment and looked out at the country which did this to his apparent friend.

"Regardless of his decision, we do what Heydrich would have done if it was either of us targeted," he added, a slowly forming smile inching into his face. "We'll burn the Czechs and the Slovakians to a cinder until they hand their assassins to us. The Fuhrer will not disapprove."

Eichmann nodded grimly at Himmler's words. It would have to do for now.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: general clean up, removed some padding.**

 **On to the new story already. It took ten days to complete Uplifted. This is similar length, so I'll try to achieve that timeframe again.**


	2. June 1st 1942

**Chapter Two: June 1st 1942**

 **...**

"Frau Heydrich. You have my promise that Reinhard is being treated by the best physicians in the field of medicine. I regret you cannot be by his side, but it's for the best."

"I- I understand, my Führer, I appreciate the concern all of you have... I just... I don't know what to do. I feel so useless just waiting for the news."

Standing to the side of the room, Heinrich Himmler watched silently as the Führer patted Lina Heydrich's hand as though he had been her father, a slight sympathetic smile offered to the pregnant woman. He was not the only ones in the room watching the exchange, standing off near the Führer's desk were Joseph and Magda Goebbels. Magda had the good sense to look upset for the near loss Lina Heydrich had suffered. Joseph, however, could not erase his smirk. Himmler figured that was the only expression that rat bastard knew of.

"I know what your husband would want of you, Lina," the Führer spoke, his voice still filled with sympathy. "He would want for you to go with Frau Goebbels and lay down. You must be strong for husband and for the child you carry. You must be strong for all of your family now."

As if on cue, Frau Goebbels broke rank with her husband and joined the Führer's side. With a smile on her face, Magda's hands reached taking the woman into her arms. The Führer leaned in, patting the woman on her cheek.

"Go to sleep," he gently requested. "Know all of the Reich prays for his recovery."

Frau Heydrich nodded, and with that, Magda Goebbels led the woman past Himmler and out of the Führer's office. Goebbels and Himmler did not speak as they watched the Führer pace, his reassuring smile for the woman vanished into an expression of terse worry.

"Idiot boy, an open top car and one guard… what foolish overconfidence he shown... and what is his condition, Himmler?" He looked up to the head of the SS. Taking it as his cue to join the Führer, Himmler stepped forward.

"He's stable, my Führer, the prognosis is looking good."

Himmler had to admit, it was surprisingly easy to keep little things such as how Heydrich was in orbit above the Earth from the Führer. Ignorance seemed to be bliss to the boss. Undoubtedly he was too busy dealing with the Generals to pay much mind to the affairs occurring inside the Greater German Reich.

The Führer nodded his head and rambled away from Himmler and Goebbels as he took a seat behind his desk. Hid hand reached up and pulled off his cap, setting it carefully on the desk as stared off, deep in contemplation about the Heydrich affair. Frowning, he turned up and glanced to the toadying Goebbels who was looming over the leader.

"Go and see to Frau Himmler and Magda, my friend," the Führer requested of his old friend. "I would like a minute alone with Heinrich."

The look of arrogance was wiped off the cripple's face. Himmler could not have been more pleased at the Führer's rejection of him from the offices he had latched himself into like a tumour.

To understand the factions within the party was quite simple really. Goebbels, the academic, radical snob, looked down on the philistines, industrialists and so called aristocrats who took up Nazism to protect their estates from Jewish-Bolshevism. When the realistic threat of a communist takeover from inside Germany ceased to exist, Goebbels more or less quietly continued the campaign, this time targeting these blue bloods as suspected sympathizers with the west.

This aggravation between the classes put him toe to toe against Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring who, if anything, felt their wasn't enough of an aristocratic edge to the Party as it was; which he blamed radicals and race baiters such as Goebbels for. Of course he would have had more of that aristocratic edge had he not stirred up so much rage from the officer class - the born and raised Prussian Junkers who grew more and more weary with the regime they did nothing to stop when there was still time.

Though Göring may have held the second most powerful post in the Reich, it was ultimately Himmler who held all the real power. It made him the source of ire from the cripple and the junkie, who had effectively cost them the air war over the English and caused the inevitable backlash on the Fatherland in the form of vengeance attacks from the RAF. Until the Luftwaffe was rebuilt, Göring's only power base would continue to be marginalized. Only Himmler held any tangible power of the three now. The other two were left feeding off the few scraps the Führer would so generously provide his two pets.

As Goebbels left in a silent childlike fit, he was replaced by a much taller and stronger built man. It was Otto Skorzeny - The Saviour of Vienna.

The Führer's face lit up at the younger man's presence. He had a soft spot for soldiers, especially ones that did not conform to old soldier mentality of the first war. He approached the scar faced fellow Austrian, his hand outstretched all ready. He gripped Otto's arm, chuckling softly as Skorzeny tried to offer his respect to the jubilant Führer.

"Himmler, I am sure you have met Otto Skorzeny?" he spoke, patting the Commandos arm as though he was his father.

Himmler inclined his head to the giant who turned to him and offered a salute to him next. Not that the Führer needed to know, but it was his decision to place Skorzeny in that museum on that fateful night.

"Briefly when I went to assure the Austrian people," Himmler lied. Adolf Hitler nodded, his joy quickly turning into a look of sombreness as he turned his attention to Skorzeny once more.

"I am certain that you have heard the terrible fate that has befallen ever loyal Heydrich... terrible, just terrible..." the Führer muttered, shaking his head with a distress. He lives, but his assassins roam free as we speak now."

Skorzeny lowered his head; he appeared to be just as distressed, keyword being _appeared_. It looked to Himmler that Skorzeny did not feel the same sort of pity for Heydrich that the Führer held. Unsurprising, considering the soldier's unwavering loyalty to Ernst Kaltenbrunner.

Questionable loyalties aside, Himmler could not blame the soldier. Heydrich was far too ruthless a man to shed many tears for. It took an entire plane ride to Prague for Himmler to build up enough empathy for the man who was constantly at his throat, constantly trying to take the power base Himmler spent decade building.

Truth was Himmler was surprised an assassination attempt was tried earlier against Heydrich, who was a man who took many risks, such as having a keen interest in flying. It was as though the nations that stood against the Reich were schizophrenic. They were either too timid to take a risk, or did long odd drastic attacks such as into Austria back in February.

"I have heard, my Führer. I am aware of his family as well, three children, one on the way, a wife," Skorzeny spoke, his voice echoing with sympathy. "I would hope that the Heydrich family would stay away from the Czech and Slovakian peoples for now on."

The Führer patted the SS commandos forearm before he turned away and took a seat behind his desk.

"That is why I asked your presence here," he spoke once more to the now standing at attention Skorzeny. "Frau Heydrich plans on returning to the home as an act of defiance against the menace that would see her family dead. I would like you to serve as her security. Until Heydrich is recovered I want you to protect her as though she were your own wife. Do that and you will have a grateful friend in me."

Skorzeny clicked his boots together. Himmler watched a small flash of annoyance cross Skorzeny's face at the request made by the Führer.

"Of course, my Führer," Skorzeny echoed acrimoniously. "I will watch over the family as you command."

Clicking his heels together, Skorzeny started to back up and was about to step out of the room when the Führer held up hand.

"I would not wish to waste your real talents with something so mundane... I should also ask another favour from you," he continued, dropping his hand onto his desk. "I want these assassins brought before a court of law and _hung_. If not possible, you have my blessing to act with lethality. Anything you need for your hunt, consider it provided. No cost is too much for hunting and bringing these two criminal madmen to justice."

Skorzeny blinked. Himmler would have too if he had been in the commandos place… a blank cheque to hunt to men down like animals?

Himmler could nearly sympathize with the commando whom had gained the Führer's favour so quickly. Between protecting a family and hunting down those two monsters, he would have his hands full.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Following long winding expedition, it was good to be back in his command centre.

For the past week or so, Generaloberst Erwin Rommel had found himself rushing up and down his two defensive lines. Its purpose was twofold: Firstly to defend against attacks coming out of Tobruk, the second, protecting against the English build-up growing in Egypt. For now, Alexander had decided the best course was to probe his thousand kilometre line for any holes… a very annoying thing to be doing. Especially when he had saw to that line would hold up.

But defensive positions were only so good in the long run of the campaign. What he needed was an offensive to stop the English hit and run attacks.

What Rommel needed to take was Tobruk, as his original offensive had intended to do.

With the oil fields and refinery's being built under the watchful eyes of his troops and a large amount of Romanian synthetic fuel at his disposal, saved thanks to his choice to only engage in a limited offensive which in itself was a great display of personal restraint. It would be enough to take Tobruk next and reach the borders of Egypt as he wanted to do first place.

The thing that now stopped his offensive was manpower and tanks, equipment. It took a lot to maintain the Libyan line. It gave Rommel a real appreciation for the men in the east that had to bleed dry holding the winter wastelands of Russia. So it looked as though Rommel would have to go to Europe, meet the Führer, and beg him to send him more men and tanks. A task made impossible by the Führer's obsession with destroying the Soviets and failing to properly judge the English discipline he faced out here.

Well, if it happened or not, it would be worth a try. He made an oath to a deceased alien which he would keep. For now though. It would be nice to finally get some sleep.

Stepping into his room however, told him that his desire would be shoved to the side. Sitting quietly where Rommel took his meals was her. Admiral Utala'Falan, her arms crossed, her mask off her face, revealing her approaching middle age features. Rommel narrowed his eyes, he hadn't asked for an alien presence.

"Admiral Falan…" Rommel greeted, his voice strained. "I should have guessed that I would find a quarian snooping around my quarters. What brings you here?"

Unfazed by his annoyance, Falan stood up and moved towards the worn out Generaloberst.

"I have come here to check in on your progress."

Rommel narrowed his eyes even closer.

"Preparing my defences, as you can see Admiral," was his simple response to her question. "They called in a new field commander by the name of Alexander. He is significantly better than the man he replaces. Currently he is harassing me while Montgomery has been preparing an offensive against us in the near east across the Suez. You'll have to forgive my lack of desire to have a conversation about where I stand. I want to sleep for a few hours before the next attack I need to repulse. I just don't have time to chat at your leisure."

Falan nodded her head, giving Rommel time to move away from her, stripping off his dusty jacket and officer cap. He sat down where Falan had been sitting and kicked off his boots.

"I can help you, you know," Falan finally got out, turning to face Rommel once more. "I made a promise to Calis before she passed on as well. What do you need? I think we can help each other."

Rommel arched his brow. What could she possibly get for him?

"What I need are men on the ground, panzers leading the charge and fighter planes covering the advance," Rommel listed off as he poured himself a glass of water. "If you can get me that, we'll be on much more friendly terms."

The request gave Falan a brief pause before she looked up once again and nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do," was her simple response. As though finding him two hundred thousand men and a thousand panzers' were but a simple, mundane task to her.

Rommel narrowed his eyes. Was this woman being serious? Was she really that deluded?

"I have banged my head against the wall that is high command for the past year to pay more attention to my actions," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "What makes you think you can do any better than I?"

Falan crossed her arms over her chest.

"Did you actually believe you were the only Wehrmacht general officer we are keeping our eyes on?" she asked, as though amused by his apparent arrogance. "As I speak to you one of our Admirals is making nice with Gerd von Rundstedt."

Rommel absorbed the information and suddenly, he laughed.

"Surely this is told to me as a joke… you have contacted that stodgy, old _codger_?" Rommel managed to get out. "Sitting on his winkled ass in France undoubtedly, hording and lording over his million man garrison and starting fights with the Führer… that Gerd von Rundstedt?"

Still chuckling, he moved past the quarian and went to go sit on his bed, a clear sign that he wanted this conversation wrapped up as soon he possibly could.

"If your Admiral can convince that old fool to part with a single platoon, a single tank or plane, then you dress me up as a Black Shirt and call me _Cavallero_ ," the general smirked as he stretched onto his bed. "Until then, leave me alone."

Glancing over, he noticed Falan raised her eyebrow. She appeared amused enough to accept the challenge from the General. She turned away, grabbing her faceplate and started to leave, presumably to return to her people as she usually did. Rommel sighed; he was probably being less than diplomatic with her.

"Wait a second, Admiral..." he called out, catching her attention. He gestured to his locker.

Frowning, Falan opened the metal box, frowning slightly; she leaned in and retrieved what he had requisitioned a few weeks back. He wasn't sure why he got, or if he wanted to give it to her. To be honest, Rommel did not have time to babysit an Admiral during his operations, a woman no less. But... perhaps it would be best if he stayed... _progressive_ for the time being. With Falan staying long term rather than having her fleeing after a few hours every other week to the safety of her fleet. It would give her a clearer picture about the war she had decided to get involved in.

"It's baggy for a reason," Rommel commented as Falan retrieved the leather boots and forage cap next. "If you want to continue overseeing my operations, then I suggest you do it not wearing that damn suit of yours and find a way to look more human. Like the Jarva girl did."

Falan stared at the uniform and nodded grimly. At least she seemed open to seeing the war first hand.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

As predicted by the old Junker, it wasn't long before the Führer decided to call Gerd von Rundstedt out of forced retirement.

It was a much less chaotic post this time thankfully. He took command of Army Group West, Located in the occupied zone of France. It was a quiet posting. His troubles were usually with the French resistance groups that harassed his men. Compared to the east, it was like a child I the back of the class shooting balls at the teacher; his other task was to begin construction of the Atlantic wall along the coastline of France. In actuality, it was a small section of the wall, which was meat to extend from France to Denmark and all the way up to Norway. As always, the Führer had decided to outdo himself yet again.

Honestly, the new command was just what he needed. He was starting to feel cooped up at home, babied by his wife, his son and even his own grandchildren.

He had fought in more conflicts than any of them could possibly imagine. He had a heart attack marching into Minsk and still he continued his command. He was not built to be doted on like a perpetually ill child. Service to the Fatherland since 1891 built sort of a disconnect to his family. He loved them, but in times of war, service had to come first and foremost.

Having his own command also insured himself more privacy, meaning he could find more time to be in contact with the Admiral, Halid Zorah or whatever it was. It gave him much time to consider why he was here, why his race currently orbited Mars under the guise of a mining operation.

The aliens were mining... On Mars… Christ, what did he get himself into?

Continuous contact with Zorah meant that he had the time to come to a conclusion about the people that now shared their solar system with. They were a proud race, which had descended into desperation. They were not much different than Germany after the Great War. Broken by a galaxy of aliens who decided to place the guilt of a few on an entire species. Were these turians and asari too stupid to comprehend what the wholesale extermination of an entire species looked like? Did they keep their heads in the sand and waited until the screams and pleads of the quarian people subsided into near silence?

In conclusion, Von Rundstedt had only four words to describe the collective alien nations that paid no mind to what had happened.

 _They were fucking evil._

Vulgar language, perhaps, but well earned by their guile to act indecisively. At best the blood of ten or so billion quarians was on their hands through criminal negligence, or worse, deliberate punishment; and they had the nerve to call the one percent that survived vagrants, Bastards, the whole lot of them. It was little wonder why the quarians came here looking for friends in militarists.

The door opening caught his attention. He looked up and found a stocky man standing before him, his uniform unkempt, he wore his old Great War boots and leggings as a badge of pride and a way to annoy the more regulation uniform types.

He was Generaloberst Gotthard Heinrici.

Gotthard Heinrici was a clear cut example of the old adage _'Never judge a book by its cover'_. Physically, he was short in stature. However, he held a personality that was vastly different to most commanders in the Wehrmacht. He was shy and reserved in the way he conducted himself. These traits would make the more foul mouthed members of the general staff (Notably Walter Model) look down on the Prussian with disdain.

Though he appeared soft, the image he had was a front. He did not earn the nickname _'Unser Giftzwerg'_ - _Our Poison Dwarf_ , for nothing.

His reserve personality hid a well-managed tactical mind. He was placed in charge of the Fourth Army after the failure to capture Moscow. There he held the lines with a tactic that impressed his superiors and shocked the Russians. He nearly had a sixth sense when it came to the Soviet attacks on his line.

At any given moment, he would abruptly his men and tanks out of the line. The Soviets would open with artillery barrage that damages the fortifications perhaps, but left the defenders unharmed. The moment the artillery attack ceased, Heinrici moved his unharmed men back to their positions to face the hordes and beat them back every time.

Von Rundstedt smirked slightly. He would have thought that if the Soviets had done their homework and studied the offensives at the Somme. It was nearly identical to what Von Galwitz and Von Below did to that pig, Douglas Haig and his English and Dominion pawns, of whom English high command proudly marched into that meat grinder.

Though his military record was impressive, it was his faith and the fact that he was Rundstedt's cousin that brought him here today. Traditional religion and Nazism was like water and oil. It did not mix properly; being his cousin only strengthened his decision that it would be best to first approach him before anyone else. It helped the man was strictly apolitical and too low in the general staff to catch a lot of attention.

"With all due respect to you, Herr Generalfeldmarschall, I was trying to enjoy my leave!" Heinrici spoke as he stepped towards the now standing Von Rundstedt, Rundstedt cracked the younger man a small grin as he greeted Heinrici with a firm handshake.

"Cousin, I'm glad you have made it," Gerd greeted Gotthard, dropping his hand to his side. "I wish I had time for more pleasantries, but we must get down to business. Come and take a seat."

Glancing to his Generalfeldmarschall relative curiously, Gotthard obliged, taking a seat on the couch offered to him. Following closely, Rundstedt sat next to him.

"Before I even so much as tell you why I ask for your presence, you must swear on your honour that what is said is not spoken to anyone," Von Rundstedt spoke to Heinrici, whose expression curved into curiosity. "I must be very careful who I confide in. Give me your word. Or I will have to ask that you leave."

There was long pause taken by the Generaloberst before he finally nodded his head gravely.

"You have my word, cousin," was his solemn oath to Gerd. "What is troubling you?"

Rundstedt turned away from his cousin; he stood back up and wandered to open the doors leading to his private study. Sitting behind Gerd's desk was Halid'Zorah, clad in Wehrmacht attire. His arm was covered in an illuminating blue. With a simple nod of his head when he noticed the human Generalfeldmarschall standing there, he stood up and followed Rundstedt back to Heinrici's company.

Smiling and looking ready to speak, Heinrici turned, took in the alien standing next to his elder cousin and shot out of his seat, his hand fumbling for the pistol in his holster. Gerd von Rundstedt stepped in front of Zorah and simply stared down his cousin until he finally let go of the pistol grip.

"Wh-what is that?" he slipped out, losing his calm. Zorah was by no means offended thankfully.

Rundstedt stepped forward and gestured to Zorah.

"He belongs to a race that has been watching ours for many years," was Rundstedt's response. "He is a quarian. This is Admiral Halid'Zorah. Admiral Zorah, my cousin Generaloberst Gotthard Heinrici."

With introductions made and Heinrici sufficiently calmed down, the lanky quarian Admiral stepped past Rundstedt, his hand outstretched to the shocked looking human. Heinrici looked at the gesture and then to Gerd, who nodded his head. Apprehensive, Gotthard took his hand and took a seat once more. His eyes never left the alien in the Heer uniform.

"Your cousin has spoken nothing of praise for you when we were coming up with a list of men to approach following our first meeting," Zorah welcomed Gotthard as he took a seat as well. "As I understand it, you hold no love for those you ultimately answer. The Party I mean."

The words spoken by the quarian made the shock in Gotthard's face vanish, replacing it with a deep scowl.

"I ultimately answer to God, the Creator, as well as the Fatherland, of which I sacrifice blood for routinely for," he retorted in low growl. He paused, closed his eyes and sighed, adding. "…I just so happen to temporarily answer to the Hitlerites as well."

Gotthard went silent and turned his head to stare at the wall defiantly. Rundstedt and the young quarian Admiral shared a look. Sighing, Gerd stood up and went back to his desk, grabbing a bottle of brandy and two glasses before turning to his seat next to his cousin. Pouring two generous glasses, he slid one over to Gotthard, who grabbed it and took a careful sip.

"Do I... _hold_ any love for the Hitlerites?" Heinrici repeated the question, chuckling as he set the glass down on the table. He leaned back into his seat, his attention finally falling onto Zorah's bright eyes.

"Their racial policies have put a lot of my friends out of work, blacklisted from the service for having a bit of Jewish blood," Heinrici pressed on, his voice low, "men who fought and sacrificed during the last war. Men who sympathize with their idea of a strong, powerful Germany, but now find themselves threatened with deportation for a faith or a blood that the brown shirts do not agree with. Tens of thousands of Jewish soldiers sacrificed their lives defending the Kaiserreich, only to be forgotten by a few miscreant Jewish communists. The brown shirts talk of betrayal… a stab in the back. _That_ was a true stab in the back."

Gotthard huffed and grabbed his brandy the moment Gerd had finished topping it off.

"My wife... my precious Gertrude; of whom I have been married to her for decades is not even safe," Gotthard continued, "Because she holds Jewish blood, I had to ask _permission_ from the Führer himself to let me stay married to her! " _Permission_!" he repeated wildly. "My own children had to be receive German blood certificates because they are quarter Jewish. My line has served the German states since the twelfth century, and some Austrian demagogue has to give my children permission to be German!

Gotthard spat on the ground in front of Von Rundstedt and Zorah in perhaps a little more dramatic effect than was necessary.

" _Madness_..." he hissed, shaking his head. "It is nothing short of sheer _madness_!"

Heinrici pounded the glass of Brandy down and slammed it onto the table. His face addled with disgust.

"So the answer to your question is no, Admiral Zorah," he continued, her teeth gritted, I hold _no_ love for a government that would subject my old, _loyal_ kameraden, as well as my family to such trials; make me choose between my faith and my country, then have the gall to depend on me when their suicidal campaign in the east falls apart…"

Silence fell heavy over the small group gathered. Zorah appeared speechless by the rant. Hell, so was Gerd who had not thought Heinrici could get so worked up over this. Heinrici was a quiet sort of man, who presented himself something of a simpleton; but today… today Gerd knew better than to hold such an idea any longer.

"At this rate, the war is lost should we continue on like the events of the winter had not happened," Rundstedt spoke, surprising Heinrici into looking up to his cousin. "If the Russians beat back this renewed offensive, if they get enough momentum, they will not be stopped until they reach Berlin. The ones we answer to now offer us nothing but death and humiliation... but with quarian aid. We can stop it all now."

Heinrici's eyes wearily turned to the alien, who nodded his head.

"When we last spoke, I said I could not condone the planned overthrowing of any regime the brown shirts set up, not without a reason…" Von Rundstedt spoke again; he gestured to Zorah and added. "This man has shown me the reason for such an action. They want to help us win this war. First, however, we must remove those who would see to our nation's eventual suicide course."

Zorah cleared his thought, leaning back into seat.

"My colleagues feel that the strength this nation has is what we want to side with. The single irritant we have is the political leadership you have now," Zorah spoke, his voice becoming delicate. "I have been watching them closely. They are not men we want to associate with. Mad men... psychotics whom have brainwashed a generation of children into believing the word of the Führer supersedes that of the word of God. There are some in my ranks who wish to abandon you to an eventual decline and the death of your state altogether."

Halid paused, his lips perched as his tilted his head.

"If we can... fix these mistakes, they will change their minds," Zorah finished, lips forming a ghost of a smile.

Von Rundstedt sat there quietly. His eyes closed. Fix the mistakes only meant one thing. It would mean betraying the oath he swore to uphold and defend. Heinrici on the other hand, looked far less apprehensive and much more enthused by such a suggestion as offing the entire political leadership of the Third Reich.

"What do you need from me, Admiral?" he spoke breathlessly. "Name it and it will be yours!"

Zorah and Gerd shared a look at the strange enthusiasm.

"I need you to write a list of men you can trust," Von Rundstedt spoke on behalf of Zorah. "Men who share your views, men who share our heritage, we cannot trust all of the General staff, especially the ones who rose to power with rise of the National Socialists. For now we just want the ones who have _our_ background."

Heinrici cocked his brow.

"Junker Prussians?" he repeated, looking bothered by the suggestion. "I know of many non-Prussians who feel the way we do. Ones who rose during the rise of the National Socialists, if we make this a small clique of officers, you risk isolating everyone else!"

"Which will be fine once we build up a loyal enough circle to begin with," Rundstedt countered tersely, "I cannot give this secret to commoners with general uniforms. Men who swore an oath to Hitler but do not understand the ways in which worked for Germany before the madness of the first war."

He sighed.

"God help me for saying it, the way I see it, the only people in the Fatherland that can save our nation is Prussian aristocracy, and the officers who serve our nation first before the brown shirts came to power," Rundstedt finished, gesturing to the direction of his study and added. "Please use my study. If you wish to write down names of non-Prussians, I will take a closer look at them as well; but I make no promises."

Heinrici glanced between the two men and nodded his head. He stood up, taking his glass and the brandy into the other room, leaving Gerd and Zorah alone once more. Zorah followed Heinrici to the door and closed it after the General before turning back to face Rundstedt.

"Speaking of non-Prussian generals you don't like…" Zorah spoke as he moved back to Gerd. "I must ask of something on behalf of your man in the desert."

Rundstedt narrowed his eyes at the quarian. It did not take a genius to know who he was referring to.

" _Rommel_?" He assumed a distasteful tone at the mention of the General. "What about that overinflated braggart? You are in contact with him as well? No doubt the little whelp is talking about me."

Amused by the annoyance of the old Junker, Zorah nodded.

"My fellow Admiral, Utala'Falan keeps in contact with his efforts in the North African front," was his explanation. "Rommel needs an advocate in Europe. He has fuel and sure footing. If you can lobby Hitler into giving him more men, he could effectively conquer the front. It would relieve strain on the war effort if there were a few months of peace in the west before the Americans make a landing in Africa."

Rundstedt leaned back into his seat, pondering to the suggestion. Perhaps the quarians were right, once the English were confined to their island and the Near East instead of roaming freely so close to Italy, it would relieve the pressure on the Eastern front. Of course, that meant having to give Rommel more men, and with the North African campaign won by him, all of the praise and ego inflation that came with it.

Oh well, one had to take the good with the bad.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 **Changes: as usual general clean up, Cleaned up Himmler's observations, I fixed up the Heinrici part a bit. I felt I was understating his dissatisfaction with the National Socialists. I didn't include the bitterness of having to see your fellow countrymen betrayed like the German-Jewish vets of WW1 were. Finally, I have decided to dump the Admiral Ostaro subplot altogether. I was going to go somewhere with it, but it petered out and fell flat. Like an extended version of landing on the moon in the first Uplifted. I'm going to have to do some serious clean up in the next few chapters as a result, but it's for the best. For some reason I don't think the quarians would be okay with aiding and speeding up the extermination programs.**

 **I do a couple more chapters tonight. Thanks for reading!**

 **PS: There seems to be some newcomers to this, which is something of a surprise. Would you like definitions of events, historical characters and titles and what not?**


	3. June 12th, 1942

**Chapter Three: June 12th, 1942**

 **...**

A knock on the door broke his attention as he read the latest issue of the _Völkischer Beobachter_ and doing his utmost not to listen to the scampering of little feet running around his home as they played war. He paid no mind to his wife requesting he answer the door that was he was planning to do already. Buttoning his shirt and fixing his hair, he walked causally out of the lounge and to the front door.

Through the window he could see a truck outside and a man stepping towards his door. Sighing, he opened up and met the man, much too old for service halfway. He was dressed like a postal worker, but not quite. His markings indicated he worked at the Reich Security Offices. Low level undoubtedly, not many in the Gestapo would earn a real living running packages.

"Heil Hitler," the courier spoke, snapping a salute, "Is this the Heydrich residence?"

The man named Heinz Heydrich nodded his head and watched as the courier lifted the rather large cardboard box from off the ground box.

"Heinz Heydrich," the man introduced himself. He dug into his pocket and produced his papers, handing it to the old man. The courier squinted and nodded, handing the papers back to him.

"Sorry for the late delivery, Sturmführer. We've been backlogged, as you understand," The man spoke apologetic. "As the file indicates, this is your brother's personal effects."

Heinz Heydrich frowned at the revelation _. His brother's personal effects?_ Wait a moment... Heinrich Himmler himself had assured him that Reinhard was recuperating quickly from the attack. That he would be home and back with his family before anyone realized it. It must have been a huge screw up. Perhaps the RSHA had been working in a panic when Reinhard fell and his assassins vanished before they had a chance to stop them.

"Oh...okay, well, thank you," Heinz got out, taking the box and the clipboard from the courier. Signing to accept, Heinz saluted the courier and closed the door behind him, his arms now filled with his brother's things.

What a strange day. Only a few hours ago Lina was visiting with the children and with none other than the Saviour of Vienna, Otto Skorzeny trailing her as though he was her bodyguard. To have a war hero as a guard was an honour, yet Lina seemed blissfully unaware. In all likelihood, she did not pay much attention to the war whenever it was possible.

"Heinz?" he heard called out. "What is that?"

Heinz turned and found his wife, the mother of his children, Trude Heydrich approach him, her lips smiling curiously to the box in her husband's hands as he approached her.

"It's Reinhard's things," Heinz returned, sounding as confused as Trude looked at the information. Thinking about it, he added. "There must have been a miscommunication at the RSHA. I'll hang onto it until he gets back; I'll be back in a bit."

Taking but a moment to kiss Trude's cheek tenderly, Heinz continued down the hallway and to his study, stopping briefly to allow his boy, Peter to run by him, chased by one of his little friends. With the running missiles out of his way, he was clear to open the locked study and stepped inside. Quietly, he set the box of personal files on his table and went to find himself a drink.

If there was one good thing about this assassination attempt, it meant that Heinz had gotten sometime away from the front, out of his editor position at _Die Panzerfaust_ and finally with his family, whom he had missed terribly since the push to Moscow begun.

A drink in his hands, he took a seat behind his desk, his eyes wandering to the box brought to him. To say he was curious was to understate it. As the war dragged on, Reinhard had grown more and quieter about his assignments. This secrecy made the temptation to snoop that much more impossible to resist.

Downing his drink, Heinz stood up, rubbing his hands together as he opened the lid of the container off and setting it aside. One by one he read the documents. It made no sense at first, as though it had been accumulation of years of research, inquiries and meetings with a wide array of people from various levels of government. This was the sort of stuff that Reinhard was exceptionally good at. Making connections with the figures inside the Reich held the most sway. It was not interesting to him though.

At least not until he dropped the latest revisions to the Purity Laws and found himself staring at a document that made only too much sense to Reinhard's younger brother.

 _ **Under Reich Authority**_

 _ **Germany Proper:**_ _131,800_

 _ **Austria:**_ _43,700_

 _ **Eastern Territories:**_ _420,000_

 _ **General Government:**_ _2,284,000_

 _ **Bialystok:**_ _400,000_

 _ **Protectorate Bohemia and Moravia:**_ _74,200_

 _ **Estonia:**_ _\- Clean -_

 _ **Latvia:**_ _3,500_

 _ **Lithuania:**_ _34,000_

 _ **Belgium:**_ _43,000_

 _ **Denmark:**_ _5,600_

 _ **France, Occupied Territory:**_ _165,000_

 _ **France, Unoccupied Territory:**_ _700,000_

 _ **Greece:**_ _69,600_

 _ **Netherlands:**_ _160,800_

 _ **Norway:**_ _1,300_

 _ **Unoccupied Lands**_

 _ **Bulgaria:**_ _48,000_

 _ **England:**_ _330,000_

 _ **Finland:**_ _2,300_

 _ **Ireland:**_ _4,000_

 _ **Italy including Sardinia:**_ _58,000_

 _ **Albania:**_ _200_

 _ **Croatia:**_ _40,000_

 _ **Portugal:**_ _3,000_

 _ **Rumania including Bessarabia:**_ _342,000_

 _ **Sweden:**_ _8,000_

 _ **Switzerland:**_ _18,000_

 _ **Serbia:**_ _10,000_

 _ **Slovakia:**_ _88,000_

 _ **Spain:**_ _6,000_

 _ **Turkey (European Portion):**_ _55,500_

 _ **Hungary:**_ _742,800_

 _ **USSR:**_ _5,000,000_

 _ **Ukraine:**_ _2,994,684_

 _ **White Russia excluding Bialystok:**_ _446,484_

 _ **Total:**_ _Over 11,000,000 subjects_

The stats were not what put a shiver down Heinz's spine. It was the peculiar little note that Reinhard had written. It was a break in his professionalism, as though he had been bored and started jotting down his inner most thoughts to himself. There sitting in ink, written in his brother's ink were these words.

 _If we were only as clean as Estonia..._

The pieces fit into place, the documents, seemingly random bits of information became legible to Heinz. _Evacuations, deportations, resettlement... interfaith marriage break ups … suppressing the panic and rage of the non-Jewish spouse..._ This wasn't just about race superiority to Reinhard... and this had become much more than a race war. A war where the race that they fought had limited means to fight back. No... This was much more drastic then a war.

This was... this was plans for a deliberate extermination.

If his older brother had his way, all eleven million Jews would be destroyed in as timely a fashion as possible; and who was to think it would stop at Jews? What in the hell was his brother up to? What in the hell was the nation he served, believed in was up to?

Unaware of his hyperventilation, Heinz Heydrich lost control of his balance, fell to the ground and vomited.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"The next thing I know, Fuhrmann is sweating and telling me how he would like to get married. So I'm like, _'listen son, I'm flattered, but the last homosexual I was in contact with was back during the Night of the Long Knives, and I shot him...'_ My God Hoch, I don't think I've seen a man turn that purple in my life."

Together Hoch and Langer laughed at the expense of the nervous Unteroffizier who had decided to propose to Langer's daughter. Though they might have been amused at playing around at the expense of the teenager, Hanala'Jarva and Lene Langer were not by any means. Hanala tried and failed to not appear disgusted with the talk. Joachim shot her a mild grin, which made her huff and focus on stabbing her food.

Lene, who looked disgusted as well... not so much because she agreed with Hanala, Lene was far more casual about her distaste, having had to deal with the uncouth nature of the two men for years. She rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.

Joachim had decided a few days ago to offer an invitation to the Langer's to join him at his home, a first for them. Usually it was the other way around. Joachim never felt he had much of anything to show off at his place. From what she had gathered, he tried to stay away from this home of his in the past. It was empty and the isolation in which he lived always got to him before too long, which would lead him back to the Langer family. At least staying with the Langer's there was a big family and filled with something new each time he came to one of their homes.

It was all very fascinating to Hanala. It gave Hanala an insight to the things that he did not discuss. Like how Joachim had originally planned to stay in the Allgemeine-SS so that he could pursue a career in the Calvary. Hanala wasn't sure what in the hell a horse was, but Joachim had assured her he would introduce her to them.

"Ignoring Gerald's teasing, I think Heinrich is a fine boy," Lene's voice called out, cutting through the laughter of her husband. "Yes, he is a bit nervous, but Helena has taken a shining on him."

Gerald took a drink and eyed his enthusiastic wife wearily. He seemed much more hesitant to agree.

"They barely know each other… but I suppose these days you never know when your time comes. I suppose he comes from good enough stock," Langer agreed slowly. He turned to Joachim and with a smirk, added, "still, too bad that she didn't go with her original choice, right Joachim?"

Hanala tilted her head and turned to the slightly red in the face Joachim. Sipping his drink, he turned to Hanala who stared at him expectantly.

"They've spent the past year and a bit trying to set her up with me..." he told her, earning a mildly amused grin from both Gerald and Lene.

Hanala knew this. She had been told by Lene Langer before, but she didn't really register it. It was back when Hanala was still drunk with being alive after a week in the Desert and an encounter in the Prothean ship. Now it became evident that the Langer's had designs on Hoch more than she first thought they had.

"Was she... did you?" Hanala stammered slightly, her reaction, a source of much amusement for Gerald Langer. Hoch merely shrugged, looking as though it had not been a big thing to him.

"Like her? Might have had too much of a Gerald streak in her…" he admitted to her, his voice causal as he gripped her hand under the table. "Not sure if that's sufficient enough wife material."

Hanala's eyes rolled as her free hand pushed her bangs out of her eyes.

" _Sufficient wife material?_ " Hanala repeated her voice faint as she squeezed his hand back.

The two of them chuckled; but Langer, however, laughed harder than all of them as he sucked back another glass of whatever it was he was drinking like water. He was beyond drunk now.

"It's probably for the best that he stays away from my _perfect_ Helena," he spoke boastfully as he put the glass down. "As I understand it, Joachim developed a taste for bright eyes and odd hands."

Hanala bristled, Hoch glared, Lene however reached over the table and slapped Joachim's chest as though to calm him down.

"Don't look at Gerald like that, Joachim!" Lene commanded, her tone teasing the younger man. She eyed Hanala and added. "I'm not blind... I give my blessing, so long as she treats you properly."

Hanala smiled bashfully and lowered her head, slightly pleased that there was some semblance of acceptance from an ardent national socialist racialist, which seemed more than hypocritical. Then, of course, Gerald Langer had to ruin the moment.

"Better her then then him being property of Eichmann..." Langer leered as he fumbled for his cigarettes "I swear he's half in love with you, the degenerate!"

As the two SS men laughed, Hanala bristled once again. Any good cheer she had for the evening was officially gone as she brooded in silence.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _To: Generaloberst Erwin Rommel, Commandant of Deutsches Afrikakorps._

 _From: Oberbefehlshaber West, High Command._

 _Subject: Troop Transfer Request._

 _Generaloberst, my greetings!_

 _The request made on the 1st of June, 1942 has been carefully thought over by myself and passed along to the Führer. Your inability to continue the offensive has been considered near treason in the Führer's opinion. However, between your successes in 1941, your popularity, even amongst your adversaries, and, of course, my own personal endorsement for your surprising display of maturity for securing your flanks and investing in the local infrastructure of our Italian Allies. It has been decided with great hesitation to permit the troop redeployment from Army Group B to the North Africa Campaign._

 _The Seventh Army, the Fifth and Eleventh Panzer Divisions, as well as elements of Luftotte 3 will be transferred to your front by the 8th of July, 1942. There are, however, assurances that must be guaranteed for this transfer to be completed made on your part._

 _1/ The stronghold of Tobruk must be conquered by the end of August._

 _2/ The invasion of British held Egypt must commence no later than October._

 _3/ Preparations must be made for the inevitable Anglo/American invasion of North Africa._

 _4/ Above all, you must keep the oil fields of Libya protected throughout the rest of the campaign._

 _On a more personal note, I should hope that your retreat of 41/42 will provide you with enough humility not to underestimate the enemy again. Abwehr reports Montgomery and Alexander have both become involved thanks to your strange activities in the desert. You must set your ego aside and take your time. With a strong defence around Italy located in North Africa and the construction of the Atlantic Wall underway, The only actions The English can take against us that will do us serious harm is in that desert you find yourself stranded in. Do not give them any means of eluding your advance._

 _Your war must be waged like that in the east - with a steel heart - allowing chivalry for the English will only cause you more trouble than that ocean of rock, sand and North Africans are worth._

 _I am sure; however, a gifted, luck fuelled amateur such as you would be wise enough to take a professional's advice._

 _Heil Hitler,_

 _Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt,_

 _Commanding Officer, Oberbefehlshaber West._

Rommel looked up from the orders, provided to him personally by Admiral Utala'Falan, now no longer wearing her environmental suit but rather in the uniform of a Heer Oberst. She stood there, staring curiously at his blank expression. It was as though she was waiting for the General to explode at the opinion expressed by the elder Prussian elite.

Well, when Gerd von Rundstedt gave him an army, two tank divisions and more air cover, all the while making the demands that were torn out of his new planned offensive; he sure as hell was not going to complain.

Rommel's thoughts went blank. He looked up to the disguised quarian; she maintained her neutral look, as though he would have something less than ideal to chastise her with. Instead, Rommel nodded his head, very much content with her than he had been before. She told him she would get him what she needed and she delivered. It was impressive to say the least; so perhaps she was worth keeping her at his side for the time being.

"It seems I mistaken you for someone who was just talk, I do not apologize often, so when I offer you it now, know that I mean it," he finally spoke as he folded the High Command telegram, and placed it into his trouser pocket.

It seemed to the Generaloberst that the quarian puffed her chest out, swelling with pride. Well she earned it. With the troops on the way and a new offensive looking much more likely, Rommel could at long last start getting out of his mundane defensive thought process and get back to what he did back, being the bane of the English.

"I believe you had offered a wager... _Herr Cavallero_."

The quarian shot the General an awful smirk. It seemed she remembered such trivial things. It was nice to know that they were capable of having humour.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was late before Joachim could kick Lene and Gerald Langer out of his home. Both of them very tipsy, both of them however noticed that Hanala had become rather sullen for the rest of the evening. Langer, being Langer naturally assumed that it had been Joachim's fault. In likelihood it was probably not far from the truth. Bidding goodnight to the two of them, Joachim went back to his backyard where he had left Hanala wallowing in her anger. He would get to the bottom of it. He did not want her in that state for long.

Sure enough, she was right where he last saw her. Hanala sat there in the backyard, out of her seat and instead in the grass. She was staring at the stars and smoking one of his cigarettes. Deciding against words in favour of a silent, careful sit down, Joachim joined her, his hands digging for a cigarette as well.

"I have this uncle..." Hanala spoke suddenly, surprising Joachim as he lit up. Hanala paused, exhaling smoke from her nose as she bit her lip thoughtfully.

"Well... _had,_ I mean." She elaborated further. "His name was Talva'Jarva vas Yuaera. He was the only one of my Mother's brother's that I ever knew. He was a marine; and he died fighting the geth on one of our colony worlds, Haestrom. I was five at the time. Grandmother said that he sacrificed his life to save a group of civilian engineers who had come up with a plan to shut down the local geth hubs."

Hanala sighed, inhaling the cigarette once again ignoring Joachim staring at her and silently wondering where this story was going.

"The geth evolved on the spot and the plan was a bust. He was wounded," she pressed, on, her eyes turning from the stars and to the patio. "He told them to leave him behind. They did, Talva fought for another hour until the geth overran his position and executed him."

Silence fell between quarian and human. Hoch watched her as her breathing shifted into that of someone in pain. Joachim shuffled closer. This hand touched against the small of Hanala's back.

"I am sorry to hear this," as all he could say on the subject at hand. Hanala shook her head, her lips quirking for a moment as she dried her eyes.

"Don't be. Talva died believing his cause was a just one..." Hanala continued, glancing up to him. "He had saved a team of engineers who went on to develop a series of hack attacks against the geth. I think he died thinking his sacrifice would save his family, his spouse."

She paused again and inhaled the last of her cigarette.

"It wasn't a week before the _Yuaera_ was destroyed during the retreat from Rannoch," Hanala spoke again, "All hands lost, including Talva's husband Raehal."

Hanala stubbed her cigarette out and stood up; turning back to Hoch who had understood exactly what was the point of the story. His expression formed into one of revulsion at the revelation.

"You and Langer treat homosexuality like a mental disorder, like they are some form of degenerate behaviour which is a voluntary feeling," Hanala snapped, her grief for a relative lost replaced with fury. "There was nothing _wrong_ with Talva, Joachim. He was a war hero, my uncle, who used to sneak me all sorts of treats just to annoy my mother, he was a friend to anyone who needed a friend. A good man, better than you and I..."

She trailed off, shaking her head. Her bright eyes rolling as she glanced up to the night sky.

"It just so happened he fell in love with a member of his own gender…" She concluded, her body quivering. "There was nothing wrong or deviant about him, or anyone else like him. I wish you would realize that."

Joachim stood up, dropping his own cigarette on the grass, his boot stamping on it. He could not believe he was having this conversation. The very idea that Hanala could sit there condoning these sorts of things… Sure, one might argue he was being a deviant with her, but she had a vagina at the very least!

"I can respect his actions to save lives, as well as his love for his family, for you…" he assured her, his voice remaining locked in a state of forced neutrality to keep this difference between them from turning into a full blown ideological conflict. "But, you will have to forgive me if I don't feel the same way about that... _lifestyle_. It's crime against nature."

Hanala eyed him for a good long moment before she finally sighed.

"I guess that will have to do for now," she murmured, taking a step closer to him.

Joachim arched his brow. He was starting to understand now what all of this was.

"One moment..." he breathed, amused with the concept. "You're trying to tame me, aren't you? Make me into someone who just goes along with how you view things."

Hanala bounced on the top of her toes, shocked.

"Maybe a little," She admitted, wringing her hands together. "You're so... I don't know. I want to say intolerant… actually, yes, you're extremely, frightfully intolerant!"

She trailed off helplessly as she watched Joachim's arms cross over his chest.

"I am hardly alone in the intolerance," He reminded her. "Ignoring the fact you cannot just let me come around on my own terms, and instead resort to guilt tactics to shame me, you have a xenophobic mother; and every time I suggest things to be official, _you_ tell me it's not a good time… like you're ashamed to be seen by me."

Hanala stepped forward, anger in her expression coming back as she stared at him defiantly.

"It's _not_ the same," She growled back, challenging his position. "See things from my perspective. When I am among my people the eyes of the whole fleet are on me. Do you think they will understand why I've come to like someone who thinks calculators, rockets and basic antibiotics are the _pinnacle_ of scientific achievement?"

Joachim could not help himself. He bared his teeth at the angered quarian.

"So… I'm just the primitive you're screwing."

Hanala jumped back, her hands gesturing him to stop his words.

"What? No… yes… _NO…_ _ **NO**_!" she stuttered to the angered human, now finding herself on the defensive. I like you, Joachim. It's just... things between us are going to be complicated for a while." "I have a mother who dislikes you; a Father who doesn't want to get into it now. My species is a hundred times more advanced than yours. There will be a whole array of issues once we make official contact. Your race will fear us. Maybe not individually, but in groups, ignorant humans will view us as invaders, monsters from another planet. Our technology magic even."

Joachim gave off a sharp laugh.

"Unlikely," he snapped back. "Perhaps if you made contact with our species a few hundred years ago, but we are not that childlike."

Hanala held up her hand.

"Okay, then let's assume they don't see us as magic," Hanala hypothesized to him. "There is still the little matter of what the organized religions of your world will view us as. I've come to either two conclusions, One, we'll be heathens who blasphemy your God for existing because our presence takes away from the uniqueness of being the only known intelligent life, or they will see us as more pawns to convert."

Hoch had to his best not to laugh as she ranted, proving to him that she was just as capable of jumping to conclusions about things she did not know well.

"You have a problem with religion?" he decided to challenge to see if he could step it up a notch.

"I will if its puppet masters start viewing us with suspicion." She retorted right back to him.

Hoch couldn't stop now; this was getting to be too good.

"Well, aren't their concerns justified?" Hoch pressed on, his face blank as he stared at the fuming quarian. "I mean you're here to eventually take us back to your home world and unleash us against genocide robots."

"Not in that way..." she snapped. Then she stopped, blink and suddenly she understood what the intent behind the questions offered by Hoch was.

"Oh…" she breathed. "Oh, you are such a clever _bastard_ …"

Joachim burst out laughing, laughing so hard that it hurt. He did not care for the consequences. He would make up for it later. For now it just felt good to tease. Though, as he laughed he did not notice the quarian's eyes darken and narrow, her hand flattened out at her side.

"Took you long enough…" He gasped, still laughing at her.

Before he could comprehend it, Hanala's hand lashed out, slapping the human across his face and dropping him to the grass and dirt. The last thing he saw of Hanala before she went back into the home was her face contorted into a smirk and her two toed foot stepping on his face.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 **Erich von Manstein**

 _ **Command Position**_ **:** 11th Army

 _ **Notes:**_ Frequent clashes with Political leaders of Germany, Notably the Führer himself. It is absolutely imperative that you make the recruitment of Manstein your top priority. While he is only in command of a single Army, Von Manstein is clearly been earmarked for bigger things in the near future. He is the go to man for every general staff officer on the Eastern Front

 **Fedor von Bock**

 _ **Command Position:**_ Army Group South,

 _ **Force Composition:**_ 1st Panzer Group, 6th, 17th and 11th Armies, Romanian 3rd and 4th Armies.

 _ **Notes:**_ Supported formation of Russian Liberation Army, noted Monarchist.

 **Günther von Kluge**

 _ **Command Position:**_ Army Group Centre -Russia

 _ **Force Composition:**_ 3rd Panzer Army, 9th Army, 4th Army, 2nd Panzer Army

 _ **Notes:**_ Supports Anti-Hitlerite movement on the condition Himmler is killed or captured within hours of uprising; however he naturally fears Wehrmacht/SS civil war. Assurances must be made that it will not happen.

 **Albert Kesselring**

 _ **Command Position:**_ Commander-In-Chief South, Italy

 _ **Notes:**_ As Erwin Rommel has been selected for contact, it is only natural that the inclusion of his superior is included. Kesselring rose to power in the wake of the Hitler's rise to power. He will be troublesome to handle, but necessary in order to serve as representative inside the Luftwaffe. Adolf Galland may be a viable alternative if you turn him against Göring.

 **Dietrich von Saucken**

 _ **Command Position:**_ Head Commandant of Schule für Schnelle Truppen

 _ **Notes:**_ Born and raised in an aristocratic family. Notable hatred of all things related to the National Socialists. Be careful of his temper. The man makes you look like a voice of reason. Do not stare at his face for too long.

 **Werner Eduard Fritz von Blomberg**

 _ **Status:**_ Retired

 _ **Notes:**_ Grudge against Göring and Himmler for the forcing his retirement, well-liked by active Prussian officers.

Gerd von Rundstedt had to hand it to Gotthard; he certainly had been busy keeping tabs on dissenters of the Führer. The list consisted of dozens of high ranking officials whose loyalty to the party was questionable at best. For now he would stick to the ones whose background were the same as his.

He had come to the conclusion that he would start with the lowest ranked officer on the list. General der Panzertruppe, Dietrich von Saucken, an aristocrat, who by all description was growing embittered by the National Socialists. They had taken away his command and shoved him off to some school to teach mobile tactics, an affront to any good Prussian Officer still in his prime.

Yes, this ran contrary to his cousin's suggestion on recruiting Von Manstein first. It was not a bad idea, but Gotthard lacked one thing that Gerd had: personal experience of the human computational machine that was Erich von Manstein. Yes, Manstein would fight Hitler when he was wrong, but he would never act against the interest of the state. Not even if he was presented the quarians. He would need to know that others were on board with him. Even then he would not get directly involved. He had an almost inhuman obsession with the war. The sort that made seasoned militarists such as himself pause.

If he wanted Von Manstein, he would have to work his way to him, until then, Von Manstein would be the last piece in the puzzle.

"Hans get in here," he called as he set the letter away into his jacket. It took no more than a few moments before Hans-Gerd von Rundstedt, his son, joined him.

It was decided for security reasons that Hans would stay by his Father's side, to serve as his orderly. He had confided in his son about the contact between quarian and human. Besides, he told him, Hans had wanted to get involved, to help facilitate a friendship between the races. His academic mind wanted to see what the quarians could challenge him with.

"I want you to get in contact with Von Saucken, ask for his audience at the sooner possible time," Gerd spoke reluctantly. "I want you to make contact with _him_ as well."

Knowing exactly what his father meant by him, His son snapped a salute and stepped out of the room, leaving the old Generalfeldmarschall wondering if this was still a right thing to do. Coups were messy affairs.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Joachim could not believe it. Kicked out of his bed by a woman who wasn't his wife!

It wasn't for a lack of trying, he made one attempt to get into his bed, but there, laying half naked in her nightwear was Hanala, her teeth bared as she growled lowly at him. It was as though she was an apex Predator staring down her next meal and not in a good way. Usually it meant that she was in the mood, this time it sounded like he would not survive the encounter with the woman if he even attempted.

So instead, like Gerald Langer who was clearly all talk when it came to matters involving his wife, he found himself lying down on a couch in the lounge wondering what in God's name he had said to offend her. Perhaps it was just as simple as laughing about homosexuals. Silently, he decided having a less then clean sense of humour was best kept between Langer and him. Not that he would ever admit it to the old man. Langer would have a field day once he learned that Hoch wasn't even married to the quarian and he was already falling into line for her.

Of course, her rant spotlighted her own hypocrisy. She seemed interested in him but wanted her whole families' approval, she would be seeing him but she worried about her reputation. He all but got her too admit that she, like Martus'Xen before her, viewed him as a primitive... who he reckoned he probably was to quarians.

The quarians were not saints or enlightened. He had seen the hate and rage in their hearts at the mention of turians, asari and most notably geth. As he figured, the only thing separating humans and quarians was a hundred or so years of technology. A gap that would vanish once quariankind integrated into life on Earth. So it left Hoch wondering what in the hell was on her mind. Why she seemed so... _ashamed_ whenever her mother or family or the fleet came up.

Joachim rubbed his tender cheek and exhaled slowly, he would get to the bottom of it, even if he thought she was probably in the middle of a menstruation cycle or whatever her problem was.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _Train reallocation, construction cost, crematorium work orders, price figures from IG Farban for materials for Jewish resettlement, Einsatzgruppen reports, requests from the General Government for ghetto resettlement…_

Heinz Heydrich pounded back the brandy bottle and slammed it down, his hands drunkenly fumbling to the next page in his brother's personal files. It was a like a nightmare and he had no way to wake from it.

It was near midnight, as far as he knew His wife had knocked many times before Heydrich screamed at her to leave him alone, the words frightened her so bad that she went off to stay with her sister-in-law, Lina. The wife of the monster; he wondered how much she knew… if Lina Heydrich realized the kind of pig she had married. With his fireplace crackling in his home, Heinz had half a mind to take the folders he had and simply burn each and every one of them.

Perhaps then Heydrich would turn away from such insanity; perhaps he would forget what he knew it would take another year or two to re-plan this resettlement...

No... _Extermination.._. That was what it was; to call it anything else would be demeaning to the situation.

Wiping the tears in his eyes as the guilt built up in layers, he decided that the moment he sobered up he would do his best to save as many Jews as he could from this madman. Who would suspect that the brother of the _Hangman of Prague_ would risk his life saving the very people Reinhard was actively exterminating?

He had to do it... for the sake of the humanity he believed in; he had to save them from their fate. Save them from his plotting brother… save what little good standing his family name held before his brother perverted it.

" _Hello, little brother…_ " a voice called out front behind him, the tone frightening the drunken guilt addled man.

Heinz turned right around, his eyes drunk and wide as they took in the figure standing in his doorway. Behind him headlights licked against his back, in front of him, the flames of the fire illuminating his face. He looked like the devil himself. His face was sick and gaunt, he looked skinnier, as though he had not eaten since the attack, his boyish charm long gone, replacing it was a frightening visage of manic horror.

Reinhard Heydrich looked like the personification of evil.

Unable to recoil in horror and shock, Heinz tried his best to speak.

 _"Reinhard... I..."_

The figured stepped forward at a lumbering pace, gone was the finesse in his walk, replacing it was a limp. The grenade attack did its damage. Still the possessed Reinhard stepped on.

"I had just come home when Trude showed up at our doorsteps, frightened..." he breathed sending a shiver down his younger brother's spine. "Is there anything you need to tell me, brother?"

He stopped in front of Heinz, looking down on the prone Heydrich. His eyes darted away and then he noticed them, Reinhard's personal files. Heinz too stared wide eyed at them and quickly, he went to work collecting them up from the ground and placing them into the box.

"I see that you've been poking through the files..." Reinhard breathed, looking almost amused. "There must have been a mistake at my office... that's unfortunate."

He spoke so casually, with a hint of pride even. How could he stand there and look like what he was doing was a natural act, committed by a rational person. Reinhard stood there silently, looking at his gap mouthed sibling.

"You... You're... Everything in there... it is sheer lunacy, _Reinhard_ …" Heinz spoke, unable to comprehend his shock and disgust. "You're planning for the murder of tens of millions… How do you live with yourself, how do you sleep at night?!"

Reinhard didn't even blink at the question. Instead he limped forward and clasped his hand on Heinz's shoulder.

"I sleep quite comfortably," Reinhard admitted to him. "Would you like to know how that is?"

Heinz didn't, but he knew better than to think saying no would somehow make this entire nightmare stop. His brother reached out and took the file out of Heinz's hand and glanced it over for a moment before closing it.

"There is something you need to understand about this unpleasantness," he pressed forward, unbothered by any of this. "I don't hate these people. I don't. I just don't care. I don't care about them in the way a rat catcher goes about dealing with the vermin he is paid to exterminate. These people's lives mean nothing to me. I was asked to find an end all solution to this annoyance, and I have. It's as simple as that.

The response broke any last notions of brotherhood Heinz felt for Reinhard.

Reinhard was dead to him now.

"They were right to try to assassinate you…" he hissed to his older brother. "You... you've become nothing more than an unthinking… unfeeling _creature_. You're going to answer to this. You know you will."

Unmoved by the display of his younger brother's rage, Reinhard stepped forward, his hand once again falling onto Heinz's flinching shoulder. The grip was hard this time, his eyes burned into Heinz as though he was trying to infect him with the same fanaticism that was hidden in Heydrich for so many years, now coming up to the surface.

"You're my brother and I love you, so I will _forget_ that," Reinhard soothed his glaring younger brother. He paused and added. "I am going to assume that your silence will be guaranteed."

With all his might, Heinz shoved the head of the RSHA back. Reinhard staggered and collapsed, making the wounded mad man hiss out in agony.

"Guaranteed?! _**GUARANTEED**_?!" Heinz screamed at him. "I should take this to someone... to the Red Cross, to the English, the French, to everyone. You need to step back. You're talking about the deaths of eleven million men women and children, and judging from this, I- I don't think you'll just stop with the Jews, will you?"

Reinhard did not deny it. He did not have to. Why in the hell would a self-professed superman purge just one ethnic group out of Europe?

"They _need_ to stop you. They _have_ to stop you..." Heinz paused, his eyes wide and desperate as he added. "I... I _have_ to stop you..."

Struggling, Reinhard stood back up to his feet, he looked unfazed by the anger, and instead he simply reached into his holster, digging for his side arm. Heinz flinched, but was surprised when his hands reached out and caught the Walther pistol Reinhard had thrown to his younger brother. Reinhard stood there, resigned to decision to offer his brother a means to stop him. There was no fear, no reaction, no love for anyone, not even for the family waiting at home.

Heinz raised the pistol high to his brother, the barrel pointing to Reinhard's chest. Still the man looked unmoved by his impending death.

"You can try if that is what you wish," Reinhard spoke finally, again making the trembling drunk Heinz flinch. "You know I will never kill you. Blood is... all we have, really. If you feel it is best... I will not stop you."

As if to give him an ultimatum, Reinhard took long, careful steps towards his brother, towards the pistol pointing to his heart. He did not flinch, he showed no emotion whatsoever. If his actions were meant to frighten his brother into submission, then it was working.

The pistol wavered and was lowered from Reinhard's chest. Smiling, Reinhard reached out and grabbed the pistol as though the two of them were still brothers, best of friends play duelling one another as they once did. Still Reinhard approached him, his pistol in his belt as he took his little brother into his arms and pulled him into a hug, a gesture that made Heinz nearly vomit.

"You know..." Reinhard whispered as he released his brother. "Trude isn't blood to me, brother. Nor will I shed tears for your children."

Heinz went sheet white.

"Peter...Isa... Ingrid..." Reinhard listed off. "I'll have all of them killed if you even whisper what you have seen."

Satisfied that his brother was effectively broken into submission, Reinhard gathered the cardboard box filled with his legacy and left, leaving his brother to stew in the hell he did not have the strength to stop, leaving his brother barely holding back his fear induced tears for the family he had to protect.

 **...**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: (will have to now start spacing the changes out)**

 **Clean up (of course)**

 **One scene was jumping between Hanala and Joachim's perspectives, in Hanala's story about a deceased relative,**

 **I sort of had Hoch taper off to Hanala's argument so not to rock the boat. That is gone; Hoch is more pronounced in his derision to what he considers sexually degenerate (and curiously trying to justify his own deviancy, haha)**

 **I added Kesselring to the list and Manstein was given more priority. I wanted to include more Luftwaffe men in originally, but I had so many historical figures I had to make cuts. Kesselring will be included as well a Manstein introduction scene, which will mark the first completely new content for the series.**

 **Reworked the last bit, I thought Heydrich was being a little too edgy creepy, so I instead reincorporated the real historical creepiness of Heydrich, which was that he held no notable hatred for the Jewish people. To him, the matter of masterminding an extermination program was just another step up the career ladder. Also, Heinz needed a little toughening up.**

 **That's all for now, thanks for reading, I'll see you soon.**


	4. August 4th, 1942

**Chapter Four: August 4th, 1942**

 **...**

At first look, it looked like chaos. Then it became clear that the chaos she thought she was seeing had intention to it. Soon there was something intrinsically beautiful watching as an army of men and machines started to organize

It was finally about to happen. The Afrika Korps was readying to march.

The infantry assembled, armoured vehicles ranging from trucks to four of quite possibly the largest anti-vehicle tracked behemoths she had ever seen rumbled past her. One of which was louder than the other three. Some sort of song was being sung inside that heavy vehicle… _panzer_ … which had the markings 'Sigrid II' painted on the side. It was peculiar to say the least.

Admiral Utala'Falan, disguised of course as Rommel had requested, along with thirty other officers of a variety of ranks marched up the line where thousands of men prepared to fight the enemy at any moment. She looked into their eyes and saw a mixture of emotions; from nervous anticipation to optimism, to straight out casualness in what they were about to embark on.

One by one the enlisted men turned and snapped to attention. Not for Falan and the other leaders whom they reported directly to, but to their overall commander, the man holding the campaign together; Generaloberst Erwin Rommel who led the officers to his waiting command centre.

He offered the enlisted men a salute, an action that garnered a swift response. He turned away letting the enlisted men go back to their duties. Falan had to admit that she was impressed. He seemed to treat his army as though he was a captain in the migrant fleet watching over his crew.

Over their heads, several fighter planes flew in their direction. RAF planes by the looks of it, which broke through the fighter patrol the Afrika Korps' Luftwaffe detachments promised to have existed. Several of the officer's ducked as though they were personally being targeted; many other seemed unfazed, amused at the reactions of the men who thought about their safety. Frowning, Rommel turned his attention to several giant guns and their artillery crews.

"Get those guns targeting the fighters; Relay the order to the other crews!" Rommel commanded the crew commander turned and started issuing in a loud bark; the guns came to life, spinning up to target the planes over head and fired, thick black clouds clashed against the clear sky, scaring off the planes into moving on.

Falan flinched at each deafening explosion the three anti-aircraft guns gave off, but turned and noticed Rommel gesturing the officers to follow him. Falan, deciding to forget her place, she quickened her pace and joined the General. Her approach was not lost to the man who raised his brow and smirked. It was not lost to the other Generals and officers either.

"You can tell who's a field commander and who rides a desk…" Rommel muttered to the disguised admiral.

Falan glanced back to one of the men who looked visibly disturbed by how close to the front line he was. The commandant of the 7th Army - an older dignified sort of looking man - locked eyes with Rommel with no small amount of animosity, but turned away.

Saluting the guard around the headquarters they entered the hut like building, where waiting them were more officers, different then the fresh faced ones, they were covered in sand, their skins cracked and weathered. They were members of Rommel's command, veterans of this desert war. They stared at the new commanders joining their ranks, they all stood at attention. Once again saluting, he gestured to the officers to all take a seat. He turned briefly to Falan who nodded and stood separate from the collection of German officers.

"At ease, I suppose that introductions are in order," Rommel greeted his personal staff, as he took his place at the front of the room, in front of the maps on the wall. "This is Generaloberst Dollman, 7th Army, Generalmajor's, Balck and Fehn, 11th and 5th Panzer Divisions. They have come to help us break the English. Please, take a seat."

Chuckling at the Desert Fox's enthusiasm, every German found a seat, most of them chatted idly to each other as they waited for Rommel to bring order to the gathering once again. Falan watched as Rommel's hands dug into his trousers and pulled out a creased letter.

"Gentlemen, not long ago I received a letter a month ago," he spoke up, holding the letter high over his head. "The letter is from OBW in France, specifically, from Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt."

His words broke the soft chatter and captured their immediate attention. It was no secret to anyone about the mutual animosity the two men held for one another. Rommel cleared his throat and opened the letter.

 _"The stronghold of Tobruk must be conquered by the end of August,"_ he relayed the message sent to him by the old Prussian. _"The invasion of British held Egypt must commence no later than October."_

Folding the letter back up as the silent room stared at him. He slipped the letter back into his pocket; Rommel looked up to the gathering.

"As those of you whom have served under me, you should know by now, I'm not particularly good with orders from High Command that calls for me to act conservatively in battle," he spoke wryly as his hand wiped the back of his neck

The Afrika Korps officers burst into laughter at the words offered by the mildly grinning General. Rommel allowed the laughter to reign for a few more moments before he held up his hand.

"Thanks in part to our English friends, I have a new timetable," he announced to the laughter of his men, "Tobruk in three days, Egypt by September."

The room went silent at the timetable presented by the Generaloberst. Even Falan found herself wondering what was going on. This was unusually ambitious even for a maverick commander such as Rommel.

"English chatter indicates a mobilization of Tobruk," Rommel continued on. "We believe General Harold Alexander appears to be making the first move against us. Further east Montgomery has decided to dig in across the Suez. Intelligence reports an attack on our line in a matter of days. The British 8th Army has decided to knock us out of North Africa for good. If their attack should fail, they will fall back to Tobruk expect us to attack by the closing days of August."

Rommel gestured to the map behind him.

"What the English don't know is that we'll be ready before they anticipated," Rommel informed them, hand slapping against where the map indicated they were. "Our new reinforcements in the 7th Army will take up the defensive against the attack, supported by elements of the 5th Panzer Division."

"What about the rest of us, Herr Generaloberst?" a man interrupted from Rommel's own command staff. "You should not hide us from the fight!"

His weather beaten kameraden chuckled at the call out of their boss. The remark came off as rude to the new generals and commanders new to this front, but not to Rommel, who was a man who enjoyed the enthusiasm of his eager officers, so long as it was constructive.

"Once the English and Commonwealth troops attack, The DAK and 11th will swing wide around their assault, breakthrough the demobilized South African divisions protecting the city and take Tobruk." Rommel spoke again, the pointer stick swing wide from the southernmost point of his line and rolled straight up to the city. "With their lifeline cut, 11th Panzer and the fast armour units of the Afrika Korps will attack Alexander's advance from the rear."

Allowing a moment for the strategy to sink in, he turned to General Fehn.

"5th Panzer will wait midway to Tobruk," He informed the division commander. "Once the Tobruk is completely under control, 5th will bottle the 8th Army in while 11th and the DAK break the army against the defensive line."

Hermann Balck held up his hand, catching Rommel's attention.

"With all due respect," addressed the Generaloberst in a surprisingly soft tone. "This is assuming we don't get spotted by the RAF."

"The RAF will be busy over the line. Luftlotte 3 will harass the English from the air." Rommel brushed off easily. "Once we reach Tobruk, You all must relay commands not to destroy English stationary guns, Anti-Air, Anti-Tank, artillery. We'll be traveling as light as five hundred tanks and one hundred thousand men can travel. Once we make it into the city we must be ready for potential English counter attack from Egypt. We will need to make use of whatever captured equipment we can get our hands on."

Rommel paused briefly as though to wait for questions and concerns. None were offered to the Generaloberst. Rommel nodded, his expression satisfied by the lack of question he had been given.

"We will meet again in two days, you are dismissed," he concluded.

With his briefing concluded and the men dismissed, the officers stood from their seats, chatting lowly as they left the room two by two until finally it was just two people standing there. One was Rommel, reading his maps. The second was his quarian liaison, Falan who stood there still leaning against her place on the side wall.

"Bold strategy…" she called out now that they were alone.

Rommel simply shot her a look, decided now was a good time, Falan removed her glasses, pushed herself from off the wall she leaned against and stepped lightly to the General , who had turned away to stare at the maps. He turned slightly as he noticed the quarian standing next to him, her hands dug into her pocket.

"Roll up your sleeve, Herr Generaloberst."

Amused that she issued an order to him, Rommel obliged the alien woman's request. Before he could realize it, a cold metal device was latched around his right arm as though it was a wristwatch. Falan touch it, the device lit up into glowing blue, making Rommel's eyes widen in shock at the sudden display wrapped around his arm.

"This is an omni-tool," was her simple explanation to the human. "Judging from your insistence to wage this war fast I don't have the time to show you how it works, instead I have set up a series of preset functions."

Pressing the control panel, the holographic project lit up, revealing that a bird eye view of the city Rommel intended to capture. The details were as accurate as if Rommel staring through a pair of binocular, Commonwealth soldiers, preparing for the assault on Libyan line. Rommel forced his eyes away from the spectacle and to the amused Admiral still holding his wrist.

"I have spy drones up in the stratosphere watching from here to Tobruk, with a few modifications, to Cairo if you so choose," was her smug response to his dazzled amazement. "You know everything real time and it will give you a chance to counteract it pre-emptively."

Her finger grazed against the interface, a digital button next to the spy drone uplink.

"Press this button and it's give you a direct line to your command centre," she continued. "It will-"

"Cut relay time down to mere seconds…" Rommel guessed astutely. "You have my sincerest thanks, Admiral. This will make my life significantly easier."

Bowing her head respectfully, Falan disabled the interface and turned to leave Rommel who stilled stared at the device thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Admiral," Rommel called out forcing her to stand still. "Are you heading back to the safety of your fleet? Or would you want to see the offensive first hand? Few people can say they watched a battle unfold where I sit."

Falan turned back to the human who stared at her expectantly.

The report to the Admirals could wait. How could she refuse to take part in history?

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"So you can see my troubles. Ernst. The Heydrich circle is once again gobbling up the power our efforts produce. With the failed assassination of Heydrich, the Fuhrer and the Reichsführer will continue to allow the centre of the circle to get away with anything they so choose."

Ernst Kaltenbrunner leaned into his seat, sliding a drink over to the man who had come to see him on such short notice. Gerald Langer. Gone was the good nature in the older man, replacing it was bitter annoyance.

For the past few months he had been harassed by Heydrichian circle that that threatened usurp even the Reichsführer himself. Why Himmler would allow that to happen was beyond Langer's understanding, as had it been to Kaltenbrunner as well. It was good that Langer's concerns were shared.

Ernst Kaltenbrunner. To say he was an intimidating man was to understate it. He lacked any of the charm Heydrich had. He was a drunk who chased women despite his status as a married man. He was built like a giant, taller than Heydrich, taller than most men in the SS, if not all men he knew. He was also one of Himmler's personal students, one of the few that strayed far away from the Heydrich clique. He held neither love for Heydrich, nor the young man he personally had recruited, only to let him fall into Heydrich's hand, Adolf Eichmann.

"So... Eichmann is interfering with secret projects…" Kaltenbrunner mused, almost humoured by the thought. "I suppose he must get tired of being a cog in the Heydrich machine."

Langer nodded; it definitely seemed like the case.

"He tried to have my Obersturmbannführer, Joachim Hoch shipped off to Russia… _My_ Hoch." He repeated furiously as though the mere thought was heresy. Kaltenbrunner nodded his head, sympathetic to the anger from the junior officer.

Snorting furiously, Langer shook his head.

"I've spent years... _seven years_ teaching him all I knew. Educating him, putting him through officer school... When I found him he was nothing but some street kid who ran away from home, I took him into my home, I raised him like he was one of my own, a son in all manners but blood; and Eichmann has the nerve to go over my head and whisper into Heydrich's ear, who in turns whispers to the Reichsführer…" Langer fumed violently as he downed the second drink offered by Ernst. "That little piece of shit, bureaucrat… if he gets his way..."

"And what exactly would you have me do?" Kaltenbrunner interrupted the Standartenführer's raving. Langer looked up to him, he leaned into his seat and slowly, a smirk came onto his face.

"Come up with some trumped up charges," he suggested furiously. "Say Eichmann is fucking some Jewess. Something that will keep his mouth shut."

Kaltenbrunner rumbled out a deep, bellowing laugh.

"I have it on good authority that such a thing is already happening…" the giant scarred faced SS General smirked. Langer in turn laughed as well at the implication the giant made.

"Figures," Langer grumbled as he searched himself for a cigarette. "He's working towards deportation while he takes a couple in as his _pets_."

"I can speak to Himmler. Perhaps I convince him that Eichmann neither has the charisma nor tact to play ambassador…" Kaltenbrunner finally spoke, his tone reassuring the older man. "The last thing we need is another Ribbentrop conducting ambassadorial affairs. We need someone they trust, and it appears your boy is the right mould."

Langer tried his utmost to hide the pride he felt for the assessment made. He could definitely agree with Kaltenbrunner's assessment of Hoch. Joachim was the best handler for the aliens... well, most of the time. At least he was when he wasn't drunk... or grouping that quarian girl... or drunk _and_ groping that quarian girl.

With that said, Kaltenbrunner stood from his seat, as did Langer who knew when the general of the Ordnungspolizei needed to press on with his business.

"I'll be in Vienna in a few weeks," Kaltenbrunner informed Langer with a shark like smile as he shook Langer's hand. "I would like to meet this quarians. Someone outside the Heydrich circle should make contact, right?"

Langer nodded as he allowed the grip to fall away.

"Good," he agreed with his boss. "You'll come over; my wife will cook just for such an occasion. Bring your wife, might distract them from us for a while."

The two men laughed as they left the offices.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

To say Hanala felt ridiculous was to understate it.

Morning had come and she had found that Joachim was no longer in bed with her. In his place was a pile of clothing. Long sleeved white blouse, tan trousers that flared out to accompany her curved legs, long, black leather boots that rode up and hid her shins as well as gloves.

She pulled the outfit on after she applied her make up to give her a more human tone. Deciding she had just enough colour in her face so that she did not look sheet grey by human standard. She glanced down and found that Joachim had left his little gold cigarette holder. Without as much as a second to think about it, Hanala snatched it up and pocketed it.

She wasn't quite sure what this whole outfit was about as she fixed her hair and stumbled down the stairs, still somewhat affected by the time difference between human and quarian sleep cycles. Quarians needed between ten to eleven hours compared to human's seven to eight. With a thirty-six hour day, that many hours of sleep would not eat up half a day like it would here on Earth. Still, she was getting used to it and Joachim understood about that difference they would have.

Joachim could appreciate those differences, as well the inevitable and unchangeable biological separation between the two of them. They could not share consumables with exception to water. Sex would, in all likelihood continue to be painful, sweat would irritate each other, if they were serious about this, and they would not conceive any children that were both of theirs... All of these things were non-issues that Hanala appreciate he could be rational about.

What Joachim could not comprehend was the vast cultural and ethical issues that would plague them for… well, probably forever. The humans would undoubtedly fear what they did not understand. The thought of one of their own falling for a pre-space exploration alien would probably start a renewed xenophobia. Quarians would be no better about the more personal nature of mixing the two species together, who had spent almost fifty years being told that aliens were not to be trusted. She had proof though her mother who thought her daughter's choice to like Joachim was a mistake she made during Hanala's childhood.

It seemed to her that behind the uniform Joachim wore and the cynical views was the heart of an idealist, especially when it came to humans and quarians coexisting in relative peace. Why he would not accept that the revelation of quariankind to humanity would not be smooth was beyond her.

Fumbling for a cigarette, she found herself standing in the front doorway self-consciously as she noticed several young women walked in front of the Hoch home. They seemed to be giggling in rapid German as they seemed to pause briefly to check out the staff car parked in the front of the house, then looked up to the windows of the home.

Hanala rolled her eyes as she took a seat on the front steps, lighting her cigarette. Of course, of course Joachim was bound to get admirers – simple looking girls with big blue eyes and light brown hair or blonde hair - wondering if the big war hero was going to ask them out.

One of the girls, a blonde turned her eyes and froze as she caught sight of Hanala sitting there as though she owned the place. She poked her gushing brunette friends and they too turned their attention to Hanala, each of them gave her a less then pleased glance. Ducking her shaded eyes she tried her best not to kill the women. Killing three little girls would probably would get Joachim in trouble.

Smoking and fuming about little human girls assuming that Joachim was free for the taking and her lack of ability to go out and cut their throats, she did not pay attention to the noise of approaching hooves until she looked up and found two giant beasts looking over her as though she was their meal.

Hanala stumbled back, her heart racing hard as she tried to look for an improvised weapon to use.

"Hello, Fraulein. Might you join me for a ride?"

Hanala blinked at the voice and looked up past the heads of the animals staring at her curiously and found that Joachim sat on the back of one of them. He was dressed in full uniform. He appeared to be smiling down at her, silently laughing at her reaction.

Hanala swallowed her anger and fear and stood up.

"A Whorse?" she guessed, the foreign word felt extremely alien on her tongue.

Joachim blinked at her.

"A _Horse_ , Hanala. I borrowed these two from the local Polizei..." he spoke as he dismounted the beast and joined her side. "I figured I'd throw my rank around for once, Picked that outfit up a while back. I just got around to finding some Horses. I figured you'd be up to doing something different today."

Hanala glanced at the second animal faintly, watching as Joachim's hand rubbed up and down his muzzle. Taking a deep breath, Hanala mimicked him, her hand grazed against the nose of the creature. IT was a slightly wet affair.

Exhaling, Hanala looked up to him nodded resolutely. She would give the ride a try. Laughing slightly at her shocked reaction to the beast that stared at her, Joachim guided the quarian to the side of the second animal and boosted her up into the leather set that was wrapped around the giants back. She took a seat and accepted the leather ropes which controlled the animal.

Giving one last inspect, he nodded, satisfied that she sitting properly on the giant animal, Joachim remounted his own horse, one hand gripping the reins on Hanala's ride, the other touching against her arm. As he moved, so did Hanala who yelped once before control her voice as she slowly lead the animal along as the animal moved.

"That's really good, you're doing it right for your first time," was his approval, shining bright enough to make the quarian blush. "We'll take this very carefully, but you seem to have a handle for this."

Hanala decided not to tell him that this was not particularly challenging, instead she simply smiled, she gingerly trotted the horse next to him closer, just in case. It was not long before the two of them passed by the women who seemed to have sneered at her for simply standing outside of Joachim's home. They glanced to Joachim, who fortunately paid no attention to the girls and then they turned their attention to Hanala, once again becoming a throne in their side. Hanala sneered right back, her teeth bared at him before turning back to Joachim.

" _Some friends of yours, perhaps?_ " Hanala nearly hissed as she caught Joachim's attention.

Joachim could only grin at her tone.

"Lonely young women… all the men are in other countries..." He explained to her they passed on by the girls. He paused smiled and added. "I would not worry; I'm more into the bright eyed sort..."

Hanala smiled. He was flattering her. It was a good move.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"With all due respect to your rank and ego, but why should I believe you? That brown mob that you intend to overthrow a government you did nothing to stop in the first place?"

Gerd von Rundstedt ignored the insulting remark of the junior officer who stood there. He had refused to sit, refused to drink, refused to relax. He stood there, standing half at attention, a cavalry sword slung his belt, a monocle in his eye which he refused to remove for anyone; instead he stared impetuously at the superior officer who had summoned him. It was clear as day to Rundstedt that this man held no love for the government he served. He was far too traditional, far too blue blooded for most of the fascist mob that took over their beloved Fatherland.

Dietrich von Saucken was a man who received the highest of praises from men such as Heinz Guderian, but he did not relish in it. Having been wounded seven times during the first war, his attitude was more Walter Model, then Rommel or any other General for that matter. For starters, his background was his life.

The son of a judge, He was from Prussian aristocracy dating back to the 14th century, he went to the finest schools, his studies however were interrupted by the declaration of war in 1914, which he proudly served despite receiving seven wounds throughout the duration. The most notable were the ones he took to the face; the injuries twisted his face up considerably. Had he been like most other men, he would probably have lost a taste for war. Not Von Saucken. It was a way of life, even if it meant answering to the brown mob he so hated.

"How do I trust that you don't have half the Gestapo in France listening to us?" the younger man demanded. "That you aren't checking for loyalty"

"I had outsiders scramble the phone lines; I have done nothing wrong to inspire ire from the Führer and by extension, the _Chicken Farmer_." Was Von Rundstedt's explanation, the mention of Himmler's nickname earning a smirk from Von Saucken "He has since realized that my withdrawal was for the best. He trusts me. Besides, the Gestapo is nowhere near the size it threatens it is. Paranoia is their trump card."

His brow cocked, Von Saucken stood there, still unconvinced by the elder Junker.

"Say I believe you, Dietrich spoke final, his teeth gritted as he looked at Gerd wearily. "Say that overthrowing the brown shirts is the ultimate intention. What makes you think I have any power to help with a coup?"

Rundstedt folded his hands together, pressing them onto his desk as he returned the interrogative stare issued by Saucken. He exhaled slowly, his mouth forming a ghost of a smile for the ambitious young aristocrat.

"I imagine that school is cramped, boring, day in and out teaching the same thing over and over again." Rundstedt empathized with Saucken. "I can get you back in the front lines if that is what you would like."

Von Saucken's eyes lit up, the offer of service, not behind the lines, but rather in the front ranks hit the button. All of his defiance seemed to crack and fall away. He lowered his head, his hand digging out his monocle as he took a seat. It appeared that he would be ready to listen to whatever the Generalfeldmarschall had to say to him.

"Gustav Fehn is slated for promotion and to move on to bigger and better things." Rundstedt elaborated for the attentive young Junker. "Would you like to take his place as commander of 5th Panzer Division? They have been transferred to Libya for a renewed offensive. Rommel has made assurances that he will commence an offensive within a few weeks."

Saucken quirked his lips at the offer flouted in front of him.

"Serve under _Rommel_?" he mused, almost disgusted by the thought. Von Rundstedt could understand the young man's plight. He had just given up his 7th Army to that braggart in the desert.

"We must take the bad with the good," Gerd gently reminded the increasingly sympathetic young man.

Von Saucken allowed a low chuckle at the expense of the southern German bumpkin. He simply nodded, accepting the post offered up to him. Von Rundstedt smiled slightly and with that out of the way, he explained what he was intending to do with the National Socialists. It was to be a fate that Von Saucken could not believe in more.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was nearly dark before the two of them got home. Hanala and Joachim rode past the city of Berlin limits and out into the countryside. There they spent much of the afternoon sitting under an Oak tree, watching as Luftwaffe planes buzzed over their heads off to some distant airfield or fight. They talked about everything they could possibly talk about. From the girls that Hanala wanted to murder, to the various little cultural differences between them.

All in all it had been a nice day, a few moments occurred between them where they nearly made love. Though, Hanala had a sudden prudence of being public about such things. Joachim drew the conclusion that not only was getting caught in the middle of sex probably came second to being discovered of her true origins. When they had passed by a stream, Hanala had commented that she did not know how to swim, but longed to try it. It would be another thing to teach her.

All these little things, swimming, for example, It seemed so mundane to him, but to Hanala it was memorizing. It was like that for one reason and one reason only.

The geth…

They killed tens of billions and now they were slowly killing off the culture of the quarians. Well perhaps once the war drew to a close and the quarians finished settling down, building their biosphere's as Hanala had called them for artificial environments for quarian crop growth, then the little things could start coming back. Swimming, leisure time...

He turned to Hanala but she was not paying attention to him or the Horse. Her eyes were turned to a Kubelwagen parked in front of his Mercedes and a familiar giant standing outside of his door, a MP-40 in his hands.

"Unteroffizier Fuhrmann?" Joachim called out to the man. Fuhrmann looked up, his mouth forming a huge smile for both Joachim and Hanala as they approach.

"Oh... Hell, Herr Hoch… Ca-Captain Jarva…" he spoke to the two of them, unaware that she had not been a Captain for quite some time now. Dismounting from the horse and tying the reigns to the fence, he stepped forward and patted the boy on his shoulder.

"Congratulations are in order, Heinrich," Hoch spoke happily to the engaged man. "Helena Langer? I got to say you're quite a lot braver then you look. What brings you here?"

Hoch turned away and helped Hanala climb off the side of the animal. He did not notice Fuhrmann had pushed back his Stahlhelm and rubbed his forehead.

"Langer said that you requested a couple visitors to come over," the Unteroffizier announced. "Well they're here."

Joachim's heart actually stopped. _They_ were here? _**HERE**_? Hoch had expressly told Langer not to send them his way until Hanala was ready? It seemed though that Langer or they had other plans. Well they realized it or not, this was not going to go over smoothly with Hanala at all. Perhaps it wasn't too late. Fuhrmann could sneak into the house and evacuate them before things got really bad.

Of course, that plan would have worked if Heinrich Fuhrmann had not opened his gaping _fucking_ maw of a mouth and for the first time ever, directly speak to Hanala.

"Captain Jarva," he spoke up, his voice bright and dumb as ever. "Your parents are pretty nice... Your mother is a bit... well..."

He trailed off at the quarian woman stared at him, her skin going somehow more pale at the revelation. Fuhrmann immediately clamped his mouth close. He had realized far too late that this wasn't a topic to broach with the quarian who did not expect that she would again be in her parent's presence with the human she had come to like. Staring hard between the two men, Hanala pushed past Fuhrmann, knocking him to one side as she entered the house.

"Um, sorry Herr Hoch…" was all he could get out.

Joachim exhaled. Offering the Unteroffizier one last congratulations, he stepped through the door and closed it.

There stood Hanala, in the hallway, her eyes turned to two other occupants. One was fully suited, Hanala's mother, Galina'Jarva, her arms were crossed as she stared down her defiant daughter, who stood there still dressed in her equestrian attire. The second was Admiral Alaan'Jarva, his mas was off, his face forming a mild smile for his daughter. He glanced over to Joachim and nodded. Joachim returned it quickly; their exchange earned a glare from Galina'Jarva that could put Martus'Xen's to shame.

" _Mother, Father, why are you here?_ " Hanala nearly growled, shaking.

Before Hanala's mother could reply, undoubtedly sparking a miniature total war in his lounge, Joachim stepped between the two, his hands held up as he played peacekeeper.

"Please Hanala. I sent word back to Langer and invited them to my home when they found the time. I did not expect them this soon…" Hoch defended their presence, shocking Hanala. Before she could lash back at him, he added. "If you weren't going to deal with the parental issue, then I am."

Hanala blinked. She could not believe what Joachim was saying. It appeared to him that for the first time in her life, someone had flat out gone behind her back to fix things on her behalf. To say she was not impressed by his intentions would be an understatement. Before he knew it, Hanala had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the staring Alaan and Galina'Jarva.

 _"So all of today, you sweetening me up with a horse ride, soft words and the beautiful countryside, all of it were meant to soften the fact that you invited them here? And I wasn't_ _ **consulted**_ _about this until now?"_ she hissed like a feral animal, so low that he imagined that the parents could not hear it.

Before he could defend himself, she shot him one last glare and turned to leave her parents with the human. She headed upstairs, unimpressed with the way the day turned out to be. Joachim groaned lowly, his hand rubbing his throbbing skull.

"I think I'm in trouble…" he mumbled to Admiral Jarva as he heard his bedroom door slam shut.

Admiral Jarva was amused, he genuinely was. He did not seem to have any of the hate for him that Hanala wanted to believe both her parents had. Galina however was much less amused. Behind her faceplate, her eyes narrowed at Joachim, glaring hard in his direction. It seemed that their first encounter back on the fleet did not take out any of the sting, the distrust the woman held for him. Not that an anti-Semitic rant would help win her over.

"It's a reactionary trait she learned as a child," Galina snapped to the human that was trying to make nice with her. "Not that I can blame her for her outrage. I have no desire to be here either. The only reason I stand here is because Alaan seems to think it is acceptable to _sell_ my daughter off to the likes of _you_."

Galina pushed her husband's arm off her and shoved her way past Joachim; she made it a point to hit his arm hard enough to throw him out of her way. She followed her daughter's path. It wasn't long before the two of them started screaming at each other in their native language. All the while Alaan and Joachim stood there, both of them thoroughly confused with just how volatile this had turned out to be.

"I would not wish to offend either Hanala, or your wife, but it appears that attitude is hereditary..." Joachim spoke up, breaking the silence between the quarian and human.

Alaan nodded gravely, though his expression was fighting off a grin.

"It is," Was Alaan's faux sober tone to the remark. "Just remember you did not have to make your life difficult for the next few days. This was your decision alone."

Joachim groaned, so it was. This had to be the worst idea he had ever come up with.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes:**

 **Clean up**

 **Deleted a scene involving a gas chambers demonstration; It was too interwoven with the old Ostaro plot line and it gave the impression Heydrich was some supervillian; his real life activities are all that needs to be addressed to make him a son of bitch.**


	5. August 6th, 1942

**Chapter Five: August 6th, 1942**

 **...**

"Father has requested my return to the fleet. Nothing serious, I'll be back by tonight."

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Joachim watched as Hanala finished wrapping her body in her near skin tight Navy blue and black body suit. He had gotten so used to seeing her in dresses as she assimilated into human culture the best she could. To see her dressed as a quarian was odd to say the least. Not that he minded it though. Same what you will about the quarians, there was something appealing about the way the suit hugged onto her body.

"My mother has elected to stay," Hanala spoke again, her voice cautious as she took in any strain in Joachim's expression. "You wanted to get to know my family so bad; it appears to me that you've made nice with my Father. Have fun with her."

Yes. That was his intention for calling on the Jarva family to spend the past few days with him as his guests. Yes, it did not take much for Alaan and him to get along, so long as he steered clear of the more personal side of his and Hanala's relationship. Joachim chalked it up to basic father behaviour. The last thing he wanted to know was what Hanala was doing in Joachim's bedroom.

On the other hand, He had made no headway with the other person in the home he was trying to crack through to. Galina'Jarva. A mother who by all intent and purpose hated everything to do him, whether it was him being an alien to her, being a primitive or it was simply him whom she despised. For the last few days, it had been a nightmare trying to deal with her. Most of her free time was spent on her omni-tool relaying orders back to the fleet.

Perhaps his raving about the Jewish problem on the fleet was not the best way to open their relationship.

To be fair, it was not just him whom she was not talking to. It was Hanala too, who tried to reason with the older woman but she could not make any headway with her as well. It appeared that Joachim wasn't the only one in trouble for being with her. Hanala was probably in a worse position. For the past three days there had been easily six separate incidents of screaming in untranslatable Khellish between mother and daughter.

Had he been Langer, he would probably have pulled Galina aside and had a word with her about respecting Hanala and by extension him while she was a guest in his home. But this place felt just as cold and empty to him as it did to the quarians. This was his eldest brother's, Hans' home. It stood empty for nearly 20 years, unknown to Joachim; his parents did not speak of it. It took the SS interior department to find records on the holdings his family possessed.

This wasn't really much home to him. When he found it, it was half way decorated by Hans' forma fiancée, Greta. When Hans died, she just sort of packed up and moved back in with her family. He could not blame her, fleeing like that after a loss such as that…

He felt his hand gripped by a three digit hand that had a surprising grip to it. He looked up and found Hanala standing over him, her lips quirked as though she was silently wondering if he was alright. He returned the look with a reassuring smile and stood up; his arm reached around and took a hold of her side. Together the two of them stepped out of the room they shared and headed down to the living room where they could hear Hanala's parents in the middle of a conversation.

It was clear from the words that Galina wasn't looking forward to being left behind in Joachim's company.

 _"It's important that I be there, as well as Hanala..."_ Alaan spoke soothingly to his very disgruntled wife. _"Halid'Zorah is making his report to Vaerhit and I. Hanala'll be getting her assignments."_

Joachim glanced to Hanala who ignored it pointedly. _Assignment?_

"What about Falan?"

Galina and Alaan glanced up to the source, which came from Hanala who stood on the bottom stair, her face contorted in to a smirk as she fastened her head piece around her body suit. Sighing, knowing full well that Hanala was in the midst of mobilization for yet another fight. Joachim stepped past her and went off to fix himself a strong drink.

"She is busy, overseeing the offensive with the human, Rommel on the ground. She will be filing a report about the combined arms doctrine they use," Alaan spoke, earning a look of confusion from the only human in the room

Just as Galina was going to accept the explanation and her fate to stay with Joachim for the next twelve to eighteen hours, Hanala appeared next to Joachim's side, her hand looped around his waist as though to display to her mother that Joachim was her human, like he was a pet that served to irritate her overbearing mother to no end. Galina turned away from Alaan who stood in line of Hanala and Joachim's sight.

"Perhaps she's found an interest in him. Rommel is quite handsome for a man of his age, and Falan _is_ single," Hanala mused, causing the poor mother to freeze in her place; her face had a grin that barely covered the vindictive words she spoke. She paused and added. "I could just see it now, Father presiding over the wedding, you preparing the event, perhaps even preparing the martial clean room for the two of them."

The way she spoke as though it was fact made her Father laugh as Galina trembled with an annoyed rage. Joachim merely smiled slightly; choosing not to point out the Rommel was a married man.

"Unlikely… some of us still hold ourselves to higher standards than sleeping with the primitives…" Galina grumbled as she stepped away from her family, her head hung low as she tried her best to erase the thought.

Glaring at her mother, it was a statement Hanala was not going to let slide. She let go of Joachim and stepped closer to her defiant mother.

"That's okay; you'll have your hands full with Joachim and me regardless…" Was Hanala's boisterous retort to her Mother's continued denial. She turned to Joachim, adding. "Or am I still not _decent_ marriage material?"

Joachim, who had learned that it was best to stay out of the family affairs of the Jarva's choose not to voice his affirmation that marriage was now being contemplated by him privately. Of course that would be plagued with legal issues and, of course, scorn as predicted by Hanala. She was a very cynical woman about

Alaan's hand fell onto his daughter's shoulder, his face offering her a knowing smile.

"Don't tease your Mother, Hanala," Alaan reminded his daughter. He glanced to Galina. He did his best not to grin as he added. "You know your mother is sensitive about humans"

Galina scowled at her husband's teasing. Hanala rolled her eyes at her father and turned back to Joachim, who still stood there to the side to give the quarian family room to debate, bicker and generally act like a family. Before he could react, Hanala's arms were wrapped around his neck as though he was a plaything for her, or better yet, a means to make her mother that much more disgruntled with being in the same room as him.

If that had bothered Galina'Jarva, it must have been torture for her to watch as her only daughter leaned up and pressed her lips hard against Joachim's, her hands sliding and wrapping around his waist briefly before she pulled back from him and briefly glanced at her mother.

"I'll see you tonight," Hanala whispered before she turned back to Galina and added "Goodbye, Mother, have fun with him."

Allowing her mother, then Joachim a faint smile, she followed her Father out of house, leaving Joachim and Galina staring at each other with a tension built up by a mother's genuine dislike of him. Sighing, Joachim took a seat on the couch, his hands reaching to find his cigarette box.

Placing a cigarette in his lips he glanced up and offered one to the older woman.

"Cigarette?" he offered to her.

Galina merely scowled.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"Welcome to Libya, General Von Saucken. You will have to forgive the lack of ceremony; we're on eve of our offensive…"

Standing on the bottom of the stairs pressed against the Junkers transport plane, General der Panzertruppen Dietrich von Saucken stood casually in front of the leader of the Afrika Korps, Erwin Rommel. His eyes were wide as he stared at the older man, his scarred face puckered up as though he found the concept of answering to a Southern German to be quite possibly the most abhorrent thing he could have subjected himself.

How very typical. The Prussians had always viewed themselves as above the rest of the German people. Militaristic defenders of the German States before Germany was finally united, they were the last real nobility that survived the many wars Prussia dragged the rest of the Germany into. As bad as the Prussian was, it was the Prussian Junker that created the most animosity in eyes of Rommel.

They felt the General staff should have always stuck with the traditionalists. They were raised from a young age in the art of tactical combat, raised to have machine hearts and a conscious hell-bent on forgetting that the men that they moved around their maps were just as alive as they were. Gerd von Rundstedt's letter, demanding that he fight in the desert like Von Rundstedt did in Russia was unfathomable – unconscionable even – if even a tenth of the rumours he heard were true.

It was this stiff nature of the Prussian that made him think there was one thing about the Waffen-SS that he could find respect for; it was the unity shared between the highest rank men to the lowliest rifleman. There was no disconnection between ranks. All men were brothers in arms, even if they did not fight for Germany, but rather for Hitler himself.

"Thank you, Herr Generaloberst," The young Prussian bowed. "I look forward to my command. I can assure you, I'll be a much more effective commander then the 5th's successor."

Normally Rommel was fine with such self-confidence. It showed him that the commander would be enthusiastic enough to impress upon him that he would not regret the junior officer taking part in his campaign. What he did not like was for Saucken insulting the departing Fehn - right in front of Fehn, no less.

Naturally Fehn glared hard at the aristocrat for bluntly putting his command skills into question. Von Saucken didn't even bother to look aghast by his behaviour. He simply turned his disfigured face from Rommel and directed his stare to the man he considered no better than a commoner.

"Was there some issue you need to address, _Generalleutnant_? Have I erred in my assessment of you in some way?" Saucken challenged, his twisted up face impassive as he absorbed the anger. "Congratulations on your promotion. I am _sure_ it was _well_ earned."

Choosing not to escalate the conflict, Rommel simply leaned over and shook Fehn's hand. Still scowling at the simply staring Von Saucken, Fehn returned the handshake and stepped past the Prussian Junker and climbed the ramp into the transport plane, closing the door behind him and leaving Von Saucken and Rommel alone.

Sighing, Rommel turned and gestured the General to follow him. Von Saucken obliged and the two of them left the plane and walked back towards Rommel's staff car.

"So tell me, Herr Rommel, you plan to make a move so quickly, why?" Von Saucken spoke as they reached his car. His voice much more respectful than it had been moments ago. "Generalfeldmarschall von Rundstedt was certain that you would wait until the end of the month."

Rommel shook his head as they climbed into the car.

"It's not an option," Rommel returned, as he tapped his driver to take them back to the command centre. "The 8th Army is on a move outside of the safety of Tobruk. It's now or later where I end up with a stalemate, or at best a Pyrrhic victory. I need my forces in the best shape possible if I want to reach the Suez... _especially_ if I want to cross the Suez."

Saucken did not offer any more queries. He seemed satisfied, perhaps even eager.

Good.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Ever since she was a ten year old girl and she went after another girl with hair clippers and the intention of shearing her bald, Galina'Jarva knew that she was a bitch.

Most of the time she wore it as a badge of pride; it meant that she was unconquerable. For all she knew, she could have entered the world a bitch, biting the delivery nurse, kicking her mother and brothers. Mother would never confirm nor deny that. Jalina'Calis was much more respectful to others then her daughter was. Her temper had earned her a reputation that resonated throughout the fleet. You did not harbour a grudge against her family or speak ill of them. Popular rumour said that Galina had spaced all of her romantic rivals for Alaan.

Well that just wasn't true, not that she would confirm or deny it.

Her son, Rael had grown up to become a model son. He was everything the quarian people now idolized. As proud as she was of her first born, she could not feel his self-sacrifice came at the expense of a personality. In many ways, he was the odd man out in the Jarva family between a pragmatic father and a mother like her.

She would not even begin to get into Hanala's differences with her brother. Galina knew that Hanala loved him and Rael loved her back, but there was always a tension that had always been insurmountable between them, not for a lack of trying, it just sort of stood there between them. Rael was a product of the new era of quarian parenting. Hanala was... well... Hanala was raised as though she was an asari - granted every opportunity by doting parents. This was by no means Galina's choice but instead her own mother who made a case for a traditional childhood for the girl.

It was rather funny. Giving every opportunity to excel and choose a path of her own, she succumbed to the bullying of envious compatriots and begrudgingly followed her brother's path into captaincy. Even then she was looked down on. Fickle bosh'tet's, the whole lot of them…

All of this unknowingly led Galina standing here… on a new world inhabited by a pre-atomic (thank the Ancestors) psychopathic ape people with all of them in the middle of a war that could and would lead it their eventual demise. Worst of all, she now stood in the home of one of them, the owner of which, was now stretched out on his couch, his hat covering his eyes as he tried to get some sleep.

Worse yet was that growing pain in the pit of her stomach, knowing that this human was doing things to her daughter that Hanala ought to be ashamed of. Before her being defiled by this man, he had her _killing_ other humans. Keelah, what in the hell was wrong with this one, this Joachim Hoch?

"Your home is sterile... unwelcoming… has Hanala told you that?" Galina spoke up suddenly, not catching Joachim's attention. "You have no pictures. Have your people even invented even _basic_ photography?"

She did not get a response from Hoch. He had nothing to say on the subject. That or he was purposely ignoring her.

"Did you hear me?"

Hoch opened his eyes at long last. Gone was the receptive behaviour of the past few days. He seemed to have been angered at the question. He knew the intent behind it. He knew that she was prodding him for answers about his life outside of the uniform, outside of trying to keeping her daughter's favour. He turned from her and reached into his pocket. His hands gripped a small purse like object and threw it at her feet.

"You'll find my Brothers. Hans, Christopher and Michael in there," he spoke as he turned his attention away from Galina as she gingerly pulled the purse into her hands and opened it.

Sure enough in the front pocket, was an old black and white photo of three young men, one tall and standing at attention, donning his uniform. It was as though he stood there like he was awaiting inspection, but he was smiling. His younger brothers held onto him like she held onto her brothers before they fell to the geth. Galina looked up to find that Joachim was acting as casual as he could be. Unable to pretend much longer, Joachim sat up, his hand rubbing his neck as he searched for a cigarette.

"They were killed in the last war, before I was born…" he elaborated as he leaned into the seat and lit up.

Galina tilted her head. Three brothers lost in a war that he did not see first-hand. Keelah... It seemed the two of them shared a connection after all. She remained as silent as she could possibly be. She had no words of comfort or advice for the young man who knew how much the loss of brothers felt.

He stood up, his glass in hand and wandered off to make himself yet another drink to sooth him. Galina could not blame him; she had touched on a sensitive topic. She really should been a bit more tactful.

"Hanala told me you and I share that trait," Hoch rumbled, as he turned back from a wood cabinet, an amber liquid in his glass, "Brothers who died in conflicts before we ever truly got to know each other. Well... except you had Talva for quite a while. Hanala told me all about his sacrifice… I would like to extend to you my sympathies."

 _Talva_.

Galina could not see why in the ancestors Hanala would speak about the private affairs of her mother. But it was done. Hoch stared at her a strange expression of sympathy for her. Galina glanced away; she could not stand the look. It was too... quarian. She wanted him to remain an unfeeling primitive. Such an image was growing impossible to keep.

"I am also sorry about the loss of Admiral Calis," Hoch added, his voice low, sympathetic as the words he spoke made her freeze up. "I didn't know her well, but Hanala was devastated for a good month. I tell you this so you know just how much she loved her Grandmother."

 _Mother_.

Galina bowed her head and tried her best to bury the memory of learning that her mother was no longer with them… that she spent over ten years of her life dedicated to Hoch's race, advocating their uplifting. She spent a year and a half out of contact as the Kareon FTL travelled from the closest relay orbiting a star known to the humans as Alpha Centauri to Earth… another six months spent on melting the ice build-up around the Earth relay to allow a more consistent star travel.

The humans would likely never know the great sacrifice of time and family it took to give birth to this new union, made by her mother. No one could really know.

"We all loved her…" was her bitter reply.

Hoch nodded and turned away, his eyes staring at the amber liquid in his glass. His quarian design mechanical arm gripped the edge of the couch as though he sat there nervously.

Galina could not help but feel bad for him. Her daughter was the cause for his dismemberment. He now sat there with an alien's arm instead of his own. According to Alaan, Joachim's new cybernetic arm was still being built for him. It would take a while to explain that to the techs that the arm was meant for a non-quarian.

"Do you have any family?" She inquired, her words breaking his stare and forcing her to take a softer stance ion him, at least for the time being.

" _Blood family_?" Hoch elaborated. "No... Not at all... My father died when I was a boy and my mother... she died a few days before yours did. A bombing raid over Kiel hit her."

Galina blinked, Perhaps it was her own loss, but a sudden dull pain overwhelming her heart when she heard that once again, the two of them had a new connection through death, always through death. Well, Hanala as well, but it was going to take a long time before she would ever acknowledge it.

"I'm sorry..." were all the words she could find for him. Hoch merely shrugged.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. It wasn't like I was close to any of them," he brushed off easily as he took a seat again. "My eldest Brother died in artillery barrage where the all the enemy sought to gain was forty kilometres. My other two died choking to death in a chemical weapon attack. I was born because they died. I... never really lived up to the pride my parents had in their dead sons."

Galina watched as the young man sipped his drink, he stared ahead past her as though he was contemplating what he was telling her. He looked confused as though he too was questioning why he was speaking so freely to her.

"They all died in France, my father to a French occupier. So you cannot possibly imagine how good it felt when I marched into Paris," he suddenly gloated. "Shrapnel in my gut, hadn't slept in three days, hadn't shaven in a month. Yet there I was. I succeeded where my brothers and my Father failed. My two eldest brothers spent years in France stuck in a stinking trench, like rats. All sides like wet stinking rats..."

He shook his head, his arrogant grin turned up to face the silent quarian mother.

"Me? I had fifty men under my command, two Panzer II's, a couple armoured transports..." Hoch continued on, filled with a nostalgia that caught her off guard. "We broke through the French and English with a force and power no man had ever witnessed up until that point. We scared the two armies that killed my brothers so badly that they abandoned enough equipment to field an army and fled back over the Channel."

He drifted off, giving a brief pause in their conversation. Galina looked away from him and back to the grainy photograph staring up at him, showing happier times that Hoch had never had a chance to witness himself. It was little wonder why he felt so bitter about his situation, why he took so much pride in succeeding where the rest of his family failed. It was all he really had in the end.

"How old were they?" She queried. "Your brother, how old were they when they?"

Galina stepped closer to him, her hand offering his purse back to the human. Hoch looked up and took it. From behind his drink, he too looked over the picture of a family he never got to have. He clamped the purse close and pocketed it.

"Hans was twenty two, Christian was twenty..." Hoch spoke again as he placed the purse back into his pocket. "When the war got bad, recruitment age was lowered. Michael was just a month shy of turning seventeen... he lied about his age and they didn't look twice. He was only in France for a month before they burned his lungs out with phosgene gas."

Galina did her best to suppress the gasp from escaping her lips. Sixteen years old? He was just a baby... They sent a baby to fight... How could they have done such a thing? How could Hoch's parents permit a child to die for his nation? It was ghastly, simply ghastly.

Hoch suddenly went wide eyed as though he had a revelation, his grip on his glass tightened as his breath suddenly became short, choking gasps. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves, his head shaking as he did so.

" _My God..._ " he whispered so low that Galina nearly missed it. "I'm actually _older_ than my brothers now... I'm older than my brothers... I'm... I'm so much older than they are..."

He trailed off, his shocked expression forming a bemused smile. He could not believe that he had somehow surpassed his brother's in length of life. Galina winced at how grim minded he was.

"How in the hell did that happen..." he wondered. He looked up to Galina, his eyes wide and filled with both humour and a grim curiosity. "You have _no_ idea how many times I should have been dead, thrown against the encirclement of Kiev, thrown against the assault on Moscow… that's not even counting the two or three times that daughter of yours nearly killed me."

Kiev, Moscow... Galina had no clue what these cities were to her, but the tone he spoke in told her enough that the war being waged for such small pieces of land sounded beyond terrible; horrific, bordering on the geth uprising bad. Galina pushed the horrors of war from her mind. Slowly, reluctantly, she took a seat next to the commiserating human.

"So you have nothing then?" Galina spoke finally. "No family? No extended family?"

Hoch glanced over to her.

"I have the Langer family... but I… I fear sometimes that I am intruding on them too much..." He informed the older woman, who did not know much of the family her was speaking of. "All I have is that picture and this cigarette box," he slipped his fingers into his pocket and surprised her with a genuine gold case. "I wasn't allowed to go into my Mother's home after the bombing."

He leaned into his seat and finished his place. Though he had gotten comfortable, Hoch ignored it as he stood up and looked back to her. He huffed slightly.

"Hanala has a bottle or two of your spirits upstairs," he informed the quarian plainly. "I think you should have a drink."

Before Galina could protest, Hoch left, leaving Galina with a troubling simmering of sympathy for the young man whom her daughter had come to like. Perhaps Joachim Hoch wasn't as bad a person as she initially thought.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"I would like to welcome to the meeting Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt. The lynchpin to everything we do on Earth."

Hanala sighed; to say she was bored would be understating it. She had received her assignment all right. Keep an eye on Joachim; make sure he didn't stumble on what the Admirals were doing, and to wait until further orders came in.

As simple as the assignment was, she could not help but be bad about it. She was babysitting Joachim. Making him look like a fool because no one. Not even her Father, whom had spent the past few days making nice with did not trust him in the slightest. Why? Because he swore a personal oath to the Führer, Something that Von Rundstedt felt strongly against, which meant Zorah was just as passionate about.

Speaking of Gerd von Rundstedt, he stood there on the two-way holoprojector Halid'Zorah had set up from him, looking somewhat confused as his eyes took in the room he now stood in. He looked almost awed, but instead kept any amazement he wanted to show, a simple look of gruff disapproval. Like he was disgusted by the technology he was using.

 _"Thank you Admiral Zorah..."_ he grumbled. _"I'm not sure how comfortable I am using this. I'm an old man who prefers a face to face with others."_

Father, or rather Admiral Jarva shared a brief laugh with Zorah, who did not do the same, only smile indulgently.

"I am Admiral Alaan'Jarva," He introduced himself to the Prussian. He gestured to the other Admirals whom the man did not know and added. "My colleague Admiral Vaerhit, and on the holographic projector, Admiral Falan, she's in the desert with your colleague, Erwin Rommel."

Von Rundstedt gave one look to Falan and turned away, he was clearly displeased about her presence on Earth.

 _"He's letting a woman into his front?"_ Von Rundstedt spoke disbelievingly. _"I should have known he would do something so foolish."_

Falan's eyes went wide. She looked visibly enraged with the display of chauvinism. Hanala could not blame her. Humanity was very much still male dominated. Military roles beyond medical positions were an affront to the male driven game of war making. Thankfully however, Halid changed the subject before a total breakdown in civility occurred between the enraged Falan and the grumpy old war maker, Von Rundstedt.

"Admirals Vaerhit and Jarva are curious about the progress so far," Zorah spoke up, defusing the potential fight. "I felt it best if you speak on behalf of your Prussian compatriots."

Still glaring at Admiral Falan, Von Rundstedt sighed, knowing that he would not be rid of her. He instead turned back to the male Admirals.

 _"There is lukewarm acceptance to this plan,"_ was Von Rundstedt's response, he looked exasperated by the question. " _They need more reasons, more motivation to commit to this operation. They have to do all the work. Prepare redeployment to key cities; test the loyalty of their subordinates. There are spies everywhere. Plus we have to deal with what to do with the common folk who have spent years indoctrinated by the party. We are taking all the risks with few incentives to speak of."_

A scoffing noise escaped from Vaerhit, earning all of the room's occupants and even Rundstedt's attention. He looked unmoved by the feat described by the Generalfeldmarschall. Instead, he stepped forward and glared at the flickering holographic image.

"We're upgrading your submarine attack force as we speak, we watch every airbase in the English nation and we've made your encryption unbreakable to your enemies," he listed off, his voice hard as he tried to intimidate the Prussian. "What more do you want?"

Silence fell; Halid shook his head as though pitying the Admiral. In Hanala's limited time witnessing Von Rundstedt and Hoch's interaction a few months back. Being technologically superior or not, Von Rundstedt was not a man to be trifled with. He was not intimidated by a man who was elected to power, rather than earned his position through school and decades of war.

Gerd von Rundstedt straightened his jacket out and all of a sudden his eyes narrowed in a display of arrogance Hanala had rarely gotten to witness. He turned away from Vaerhit and directed his arrogance to Admiral Jarva.

 _"I have given the technical specifications of the new Me-262 prototype to Admiral Zorah. Our engineers are having troubles with the turbo jet engines,"_ the Generalfeldmarschall listed to Hanala's father. _"We have the new Panzer V in the design room with extensive design issues. Sort them out and get them in the production line, and you will build more friends amongst the general staff."_

The Generalfeldmarschall paused and turned to Vaerhit, his arrogance turning into furious anger.

 _"You want our strength as your own?"_ he snapped out like Vaerhit was a child. _"You want us to wage a potential civil war in the middle of a worldwide war? You had best start treating us as equals rather than pawns, you insolent, scrawny bastard."_

Vaerhit's stormed past the admirals as though he was going to start a fight with the holographic human. Gerd von Rundstedt stood his ground.

"Let me tell yo-."

 _"No, let me tell you something. On paper, the Prussians Junker class control maybe a million men. More if I can convince every man of my background that this plan will work,"_ Rundstedt explained to the room and to especially Vaerhit. _"In actuality, loyalty to the Führer could result to a split up in the army. It's not going to be an easy thing to find a unified opinion on a coup."_

Rundstedt paused and allowed his words to sink in. Hanala simply stared. This had gotten much too complicated.

 _"The SS have well over a million men in three separate branches, The Waffen SS, the police and the administration arm. The moment we march into the Führer's offices and arrest him, there will be a million men turning from the front and coming after us. There will be hundreds of thousands of civilian police auxiliary forces coming after us. Not to mention loyal Wehrmacht and civilians to the Führer's name,"_ Rundstedt listed off the hard fact. _"If we fail, we will be hanged as traitors, our families will hang because the SS wills it so. We will lose everything and the war will get worse."_

He took in a deep breath and crossed his arms, his eyes still glaring into Vaerhit.

 _"Now please,"_ he finished. _"Tell me that you understand why we can't simply accept that a few bones tossed to us are incentive enough to risk everything we seek to protect."_

Shaking his head as he received no response from the stupidly quiet admiral, the Junker turned away from him and focused on the second hologram of Utala'Falan.

"Tell Rommel that he had better be on schedule…" he muttered to the woman. His voice filled with a rage due to the argument. He clearly did not like the idea of a female in any sort of command structure. _"I did not sit through a five hour lecture given by that Bohemian Corporal and his little henchmen and county bumpkin generals about allocating three hundred thousand men and a thousand tanks to a land filled with sand and niggers when they should be facing down the Bolsheviks."_

With that said, von Rundstedt disabled his communicator, creating a brief silence before a sudden series of explosions erupted from Falan's Hologram, causing ever quarian but Hanala to jump in place. She knew exactly what that sound was.

 _"The attack has now commencing; the noise is an outgoing artillery barrage..."_ Falan spoke tersely as she seemed to glance back at them. _"The enemy is advancing towards us. We're gearing up for our advance as well. I can't be long."_

"We understand," Admiral Jarva spoke up. "Have you begun approaching Rommel about our plans?"

Falan shook her head.

 _"Not yet. I'm an observer, which is all."_

"Good," Zorah spoke, sounding relieved that the General in Africa was not aware of the plans. "Gerd von Rundstedt is bent on keeping this a Prussian only conspiracy for the moment. He doesn't trust Rommel. He is, after all, one of the Führer's favourites."

Vaerhit, thoroughly shamed by the rage of a man in his eighties finally found his voice.

"Of course, military rivalries, seems it's a trait we share," Vaerhit grumbled. "Just who is this Führer? Does he even have a name? I have spoken with a few party officials. So far all of them are reluctant to using his name in my presence."

Zorah glanced down to his data pad briefly.

"One Adolf Hitler," he said as he activated the big screen to show a photo of the dictator. "Austrian born, in 1933, he led his political party, the National Socialists to victory over the rest of the German political parties but not enough to have a majority. He was made leader by default. Not long after he enacted a dictatorship. Initially he was well liked by the military. He had destroyed his paramilitary organization on behalf of them. He has devoted much of his resources to rearmament with the intention to take back the territories lost in the last war and to begin expansion in the east for a new empire of sorts."

"Of course, which _totally_ explains why he's in a war against the western capitalists nation states," Vaerhit grumbled sarcastically. Zorah ignored his tone but addressed the question regardless.

"The western powers intervened and within a few months, the Germans had overwhelmed their response, exiling the English back to their island nation with the French that managed to escape." was his explanation. "After a short interval of comparatively minor conflicts, they turned their attention to the east and have gotten as far as here…"

A map arose from Zorah's arm, big enough for the whole room to witness. Marked black was the land taking by the Germans, marked red was what remained of the Soviets. There on the border between Black and red was a city, massive in scope.

"The city of Moscow," He informed the room. "Gerd von Rundstedt tells me a new offence begun a few months ago meant to take the Bolshevik's oilfields in the south. They hope to starve the Russian war machine into submission."

He closed the map and turned to Admiral Jarva, who was rubbing his mouth. Glancing briefly to his daughter, Alaan turned back to Zorah.

"Why is the army so willing to help in a regime change?" Jarva asked Zorah.

"Two things," he stated as he took a seat. "The first, as mentioned by Von Rundstedt, the SS happened. Each year they grow more and more powerful they make it no secret that they plan to replace the army as soon as they can. Routinely they are being allocated supplies and the latest weapons before the Heer. The secret police element of the SS terrorizes anyone who goes after them."

"A political army dedicated to one man who we're trying to overthrow. That's just great," Vaerhit grumbled as he too took a seat.

Hanala frowned. The SS could not possibly be all made up of monsters and fanatics. Surely some more were like Joachim and Langer, in it for personal reasons. Joachim was not a fanatical about his leader. At least she thought he wasn't. He never really talked about this Adolf Hitler, other than to say than to say _'Heil Hitler'_ to his fellow SS.

"They can't be all bad..." she mumbled.

Vaerhit turned on her. He had clearly heard what she had said under her breath.

"Just because you _befriended_ one doesn't mean they're all like him," he responded nastily. "I've said it once and I'll say it again. We have placed our trust in a nation state that should not be so easily accepted." He turned to Alaan, who remained silent and added. "You thought they are so mouldable, well so could the capitalist if we tried hard enough."

Before a fight or an argument erupted, Zorah spoke again.

"The second reason is because Hitler has more or less made them figureheads to his own plans," he continued. "Plans that called for a much too early attack on the communist state, they weren't ready and Hitler had a temper tantrum when the campaign stalled. With every passing day, victory grows dimmer."

Sudden whispering caught everyone's attention. They turned and saw that Falan was turned around, her hands outstretched as she seemed to be fiddling with something. Noticing the silence, Falan turned back and offered the group a small apologetic smile.

 _"Herr Generaloberst Erwin Rommel would like to have a word with you all."_

The holographic projector next to Falan hissed to life. Stranding there was the bluish image of General Erwin Rommel. His focus wasn't on them but he seemed to have been patting himself down as though cleaning sand of him, sand they could not make out. Hanala reserved a smile. Desert Fox or not Germans were not made for the Desert.

"Generaloberst, it is a pleasure to finally meet you," Alaan greeted tone respectful for the new arrival. Glancing up, Rommel nodded his head, accepting the words.

 _"Likewise, I have heard your praises being sung by Admiral Falan,"_ Rommel spoke, his voice lower than anyone expected. He turned and locked eyes with Hanala, adding, _"Captain Jarva. I see you have returned to your fleet. I imagine your SS liaison will be most eager for your return."_

His words made Vaerhit round back to Admiral Jarva, who shrugged helplessly. Hanala offered the older General a slight smile.

"Only for today," she answered him. "I am sure he will survive."

Rommel nodded and redirected his attention to the three admirals.

 _"I would enjoy a chance to talk, but Admiral Falan and I must get going."_ Rommel continued, turning to Utala'Falan. _"We have an offensive to lead."_

Admiral Falan blinked at the statement. She certainly did not expect that.

 _"Lead?"_ she repeated uncertainly.

Crossing his arms as he turned to her, Rommel raised his brow at the Admiral who appeared suddenly nervous about standing there next to the human.

 _"What? Did you think I was going to remain behind friendly lines and rely on your spy drones?"_ Rommel questioned the quarian disguised as an Afrika Korps officer. He turned from her and stared at the rest of the admiralty, adding. _"My thanks to the support you have procured for me. This attack could have been a costly one without it."_

Halid'Zorah nodded and with that, the projections of Falan and Rommel vanished, leaving the two Jarva's, Vaerhit and Zorah in a state of silence. Silence was broken by Vaerhit.

"Miss Jarva, why don't you go and see to preparing the next supply shipment." The Admiral suggested for her benefit, a look of smug satisfaction running across his face as he added. "This talk is best saved for those who still hold positions of authority."

Tightening her fist, she turned and noticed her father, shaking his head, telling her that now was not the time to start a fist fight with an Admiral. Sighing, Hanala turned away and headed out to handle the shuttle.

For now, she just hoped everything was going okay between Joachim and her Mother.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _ **"To our Brothers! Better men then we could ever possibly be!"**_

 _"I-I'll ignore the gender slip up..."_

Together Joachim and Galina drank from their glasses. Joachim finished before Galina and watched as she somehow consumed the liquor through her helmet from what he assumed to be a hole in the mask. Whatever it was, it looked very clumsy. She didn't need her stupid helmet on. Hanala told him that it was primarily for precautionary reasons that they wore the suit here.

"How are you even drinking?" He found himself slurring.

"Emergency induction port…" was her response, earning a wave of Hoch's hand in a dismissive fashion.

"Take off that stupid helmet," he snapped. "You don't need it at all… you… you just don't want to _look_ at me right?"

Dropping her empty glass next the bottle of quarian spirits, Galina's bright eyes narrowed at him.

"Yes, I don't want to look at you, because I still don't get what my daughter sees in you..." Galina slurred just as badly as he. "I don't think she has ever _liked_ me. She was her Father's child. Why she would date a carbon copy of _me_ is extremely _cur-io-us_..."

Joachim laughed as he poured himself another drink.

"She loves her _fam-ily_ … all of her family…. to a fault sometimes…" he answered in between large gulps. "You know she won't give any sort of official recognition between the two of us? She does not want you to be shamed by me seeing her. She… she doesn't like me; I'm a fling at best… a _fucking_ fling. Man, h-how stupid am I? _Shit_..."

Galina burst out laughing as she sucked down her drink through what she claimed to be an emergency induction port.

"Are you trying to make me laugh? _Han-al-a_ is nearly as insane as the geth about you are about whatever stupid, petty thing _you_ hate!" she managed to spit. "Let me tell you something about my daughter. She was always a loner, she didn't date, she didn't have much in the way of _friends_ , she had her interests, which we supported of course, and that was it for her. She doesn't hang off you just to make me furious. She… she does it because one day she wants something official."

The mother paused, her body swaying as she tried to think about her next words.

"That and she's a real _**BITCH**_. Like me..." she said proudly. She reached out and slapped her hand on his shoulder as she added. "Oh Keelah, You poor man... you stupid, dumb primitive bastard…"

Without any warning, Galina fell to the floor of the home, her choking giggles caught the drunk human off guard as she rolled over, her hands unlocking her mask. It fell off her face, exposing her to the Earth atmosphere. Joachim winced. She would definitely feel that in the morning.

"She keeps telling me it's complicated though," He continued as he fumbled for a cigarette. "What in the fuck does that mean...?"

Placing one in his lips, he grabbed a second one and tossed it at the quarian, who hissed and growled. She did not like getting things thrown at her. Regardless, the quarian mimicked both Joachim and her daughter and placed the end into her lips and awaited for Joachim to lean in with a wavering lighter.

"That is because it _IS_ complicated, you stupid, foolish _Bosh'tet_ ," she once again hissed as she exhaled the smoke and took a deep drink of Hanala's liquor. "It may seem easy to you, but she's throwing all of her faith into a relationship with a man from a race centuries behind us, and not even known by more than a hundred quarians. She _has_ to be delicate about this. It's not that she doesn't _like_ you. She's just being careful for both of your sakes. One of you has to be. Seems she's the smart one. All you bring to the relationship is your killing abilities and hatred and bigotry and all that garbage you think is somehow right!"

The mother paused and shook her head as though it would bring back sense to her barely functional consciousness.

"Listen to me…" She spoke disbelieving of her own words. "Talking like I'm okay with the two of you. What's wrong with me? I _hate_ you, Joachim Hoch. I _hate_ you for defiling my daughter with your stupid human hands, well hand... Hanala did the right thing, blowing off one of your _stuuupid_ arms you, awful cretin."

Joachim rubbed his bloodshot eyes and stood up, his fogged mind turned and focused on walking to the door.

"Being supportive of us? Now I know you're drunk." He mused, grinning to himself. "I can't wait to start calling you _Mother_. I'm going to be the best goddamn son-in-law you'll ever have. The big, _stupid_ primitive! My, my... what will your friends think of this scandal!?"

Laughing as a string of alien curse words escaping Galina, Joachim swayed and stumbled to the door. He pried it open and found their sentry, Heinrich Fuhrmann patrolling the front yard, his machine gun ready to shoot any interlopers. Fuhrmann turned and stared wide eyed to Hoch and immediately realized how intoxicated the Obersturmbannführer was.

"Get the _fuck_ inside Fuhrmann and have a drink with us!" he barked as though he was Fuhrmann's drill instruction.

Confused, Fuhrmann tilted up his Stahlhelm and rubbed his head.

"Yes, Herr Hoch," He got out.

Letting the reluctant teenager into his brother's house, Joachim closed the door and in a stumbling shamble, he guided Fuhrmann to the couch. They did their best not to step on Galina who was lying flat on the floor and staring at the ceiling as though it she was taking in the Sistine Chapel's ceiling. Fuhrmann sat down, unslinging his MP-40 and pulling his helmet off his head, revealing a thick blonde patch of hair on his head.

Perfect Aryan specimen, that Mongolian looking motherfucker Himmler would be so proud.

"He's getting married you know?" Joachim announced to Galina, who rolled her eyes to him. "He snaked the girl I was being set up for from me. _Han-ala_ and I would not have happened were it not for him!"

Handing Fuhrmann a brandy glass filled to the brim with whiskey, Joachim sat on the floor next to Galina, who struggled up to sit as Joachim was, her hands using his shoulder as support as she turned her poison glare to the young Fuhrmann, who instantly froze up in a state of fear, even if she was easily four heads shorter then he was.

"I would congratulate you but as a result he decided to trade her for my daughter," the woman growled as she grabbed Hanala's liquor to pour herself yet another generous glass. Fuhrmann ducked his head and sipped his strong drinking, wincing slightly. It appeared he lacked the iron liver Joachim had.

"Sorry Frau Jarva..." he mumbled. Galina waved it away. It did not matter her at the moment.

Joachim poured himself another glass and raised it into the air. He did not feel the cigarette falling out of his mouth and landing into his lap.

"A drink to the man who saved mine and Hanala's ass in the desert," the Obersturmbannführer toasted to the younger man, who went a shade of red. "To you, Heinrich Fuhrmann, Molotov expert and soon-to-be married man! Salute!"

Fuhrmann smiled modestly and together, the three of them clicked their glasses and continued the night of heavy drinking with no end in sight.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was four in the morning local time before Hanala and her Father found their way back to Joachim's home. Something was off about it. They were to be picked up by Fuhrmann. He did not arrive, leaving Hanala and her father having to walk to the home. It wasn't particularity far, but still, both of them were out of place in their quarian attire.

Still, it was a nice night out and it gave time for Hanala to spend alone with her Father. Something that she had really missed since the start of her assignment to monitor Earth over a year ago. It was nice. He was not in the presence of Mother or Joachim; he could let his guard down. So the two of them talked about everything they could possibly talk about. All of it far away from the mission they had and the guilt Hanala held for having to keep Joachim in the dark.

Her father cleared his throat as they reached the house. He had more to say. Hanala offered him a smile as she turned to face him.

"Sorry about Vaerhit back there..." Father suddenly. "As much as I want to handle it, I can't very well smack him for smart mouthing my daughter. I do need to present some sort of personal separation between my duties and family… no matter how much I wish it to be otherwise."

Hanala nodded her head. Personally she wanted to watch the little bastard squeal under the barrel of her rifle, but she could not very well do that.

"I know..." she returned her voice dull. "I cannot simply beat him senseless, at least not yet, anyways."

Father smiled, his hand touching against her forearm.

"If it's any consolation to you, I know that you can handle yourself." Father said, letting go, his voice holding a note of pride. "You don't need me to defend you, you're all grown up now and I am very proud of it."

He paused and chuckled lowly.

"Keelah, I don't think you needed me since you were born..." he added, his voice growing somewhat morose. "Perhaps there may be too much of your mother in you. It might cause you quite a bit of trouble in the near future… so be careful"

Hanala shook her head and smiled warmly to her very sappy sounding father. Keelah, for an admiral of the fleet, he sure was soft about her. It made her wonder if Father knew the things she was capable of. Things that shocked her, that was for sure.

"I'll always need you, Father. You know that..." Hanala assured him. Father did not seem to believe, but he would accept the answer.

Quietly, the two of them entered the house. Both of them did a double take at the thick, pungent scent of alcohol caught the two of them completely off guard. The house was torn apart like there had been a fight. What few things Joachim had were tossed around, the furniture was kicked over or out of place. A mirror was smashed.

What in the ancestors name had happened here? It seemed Hanala's sentiment was shared with her Father.

There, lying together was Joachim and Mother. Joachim was stretched out on the floor. Next to him laid Mother, now unmasked and exposed despite safety procedures calling for several trips to Earth before unmasking was using Joachim's stomach as a pillow. More surprisingly was the fact that Mother was cradling an MP-40 in her hands like it was a toy.

Where did she get one of _those?!_

Still staring, Father stepped forward. Slowly he leaned over his wife, his hand grazing against her bare cheek. The effect was instantaneous. Mother stirred, opened her eyes and groaned miserably. Hanala noticed two bottles from her private stock next to Mother and closed her eyes, her fingers pinching her brow. Of fucking course Joachim would get her drunk.

" _O-h, hi hus… Husband... We were just... you know... talking.._." Mother slurred, her words failing her miserably. _"Hoch and I have a lot in common. Ancestors help me."_

Where Father was gentle in waking Mother up, Hanala was not gentler to the man who was the cause of this. She kicked Joachim in his ribs, waking the drunk German from his snoring slumber. With bleary eyes, he up grinned like an idiot at both Hanala and to father, who turned his attention from him to his wife, whom he was trying to get her to focus enough to walk.

"Off to bed…" Father soothed Mother's moaning. "I don't know what is going to be worse, your hangover, or your infection in the morning..."

As the two quarian parents left, Joachim stood up and slumped into the couch, a stupid looking smile was granted to Hanala. Hanala huffed and turned her focus away as she too joined him on the couch. She wanted to be mad, but it seemed that intoxicated bonding might have actually worked.

"I think she likes me..." Joachim slurred almost as bad as Mother did, his face planted deep into Hanala's breasts as though they suddenly belonged to him.

Hanala rolled her eyes, but decided to go with it. Her hands reached up and pushed through his hair playfully, earning a small moan from the drunkard.

"I guess that was one way to bond... "

Her musings were cut off as a sudden heaving noise came from the direction of the bathroom. Hanala blanched as she knew exactly what the hell was happening in there. Someone was vomiting, then moaning in barely audible German, and then vomiting again.

"Fuhrmann," Joachim explained loud enough for the occupant in the bathroom to hear. "He had three drinks. I did not think he was so weak stomached. I would have made him tea instead."

 _ **"I had twelve drinks! TWELVE!"**_ Fuhrmann roared back, for the first time in Hanala's memory, the young giant actually sounded upset. _**"I said I couldn't handle more than three, you kept ordering me to drink!"**_

Joachim could only laugh like the bastard he was.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes:**

 **Extreme clean up**

 **Removal of Ostaro**


	6. August 8th - 13th, 1942

**Chapter Six: August 8th - 13th, 1942**

 **...**

 _"Commander, I want your attachment of Nebelwerfers hitting between sectors C6 to C9. Next have the K 36's start covering the advance. Permission is granted to field officers to be given artillery support when required."_

Rommel, in Falan's opinion, might have been micromanaging a bit too much. If he man had one reoccurring weakness, then micromanagement may have been it.

The roar of the Panzerjager's just outside the command hanomag had deafened and desensitized Admiral Utala'Falan to the sheer roar that chemical based explosives caused. It was long before the groaning tone caught her ears. It sounded like the spirits of the dead roaring past her. The Nebelwerfer rocket launcher, which she had seen a demonstration.

It was still quite hard to believe such primitive weapons could be so interesting to an admiral who spent her military career mostly behind a desk, so to speak. It had to be presentation Germans brought to designing their weaponry, their uniforms, even right down to their badges. The weapon design of the Nebelwerfer alone was exquisite, even in the middle of worldwide conflict the Germans found time to put love into their design work. She wasn't too certain whether that was a good or bad thing, however.

For the past thirteen hours they had been at it, trying to dislodge the garrison left in Tobruk. A city captured by the English from the Italian control a few years ago, now it was on the verge of collapse, the Commonwealth soldiers were being pounded mercilessly by the full might of the reinvigorated Afrika Korps.

It would not be long until the city would fal-

Suddenly, the whole truck bounced back and forth as though it had taken a devastating direct hit. The Hanomag crashed and groaned, the vehicle flipping onto its side.

The radios died as did the small light inside the Hanomag, leaving the two of them in the dark, the two of them illuminated in Falan's omni-tool. Groaning, Falan found herself underneath Rommel who appeared just as dazed as she was, but he looked much worse for wear. Groaning, he rolled off her. The two of them coughing as thick smoke started to fill the truck up.

Rommel stood up from his seat; he wiped his forehead as he tried to regain his bearings. Without words he gestured for Falan to follow him to the door that was bent, wedged. Rommel hit it but it was budged, His foot kicked against it fruitlessly.

"Don't worry; they'll be getting the door open…" the Generaloberst grumbled as he sat back, his hand pushing up his jacket to cover his mouth. Like this was not the first time this had happened to him. Falan however was not a woman who wanted to die in a steel box before rescue arrived. She activated her omni-tool and activated the small plasma blowtorch. Just as she was about to hit the metal lock, clanging on the other side made her pause and turn back to Rommel who looked amused by her paranoid fears. It appeared that nearly being hit by a falling artillery shell did not faze him, but a knock had. There was a long pause before finally, a man finally roared.

 _ **"STEP BACK, HERR GENERALOBERST!"**_

The door flew off the hinges and together quarian and human stumbled out of the burning vehicle, coughing as they tried to breath. Falan looked up and saw a small Kubelwagen, a chain tied to the bumper and the Hanomag door was buried in the sand.

An officer approached, a Hauptmann from what Falan determined. He handed Rommel a water flask, which he accepted. He took a careful drink and then washed his face. With beadlets of water dripping down his face, Rommel thanked the Hauptmann and handed the bottle to Falan, who drunk much more greedily then the Generaloberst did.

The two of them, followed closely by the Hauptmann and his company limped slowly to the front of the Hanomag; not that there was much of a front of the half-track was there anyway. It had been sheered right off, nothing but fire and two torn up bodies splashed around the sand blood soaking into the dirt.

"Perhaps we were a bit too close to the front…" Rommel finally spoke, his tone grim as he turned away from the carnage. He took the water flask from Falan and handed it back to the Hauptmann.

"Hauptmann, we thank you for the rescue;" he praised the man, slapping his shoulder. "Take your men back to their position and await further directions."

The Hauptmann saluted and the company of soldiers rushed off from their Generaloberst back to their positions, leaving Rommel grabbing for his binoculars to survey the combat with the slightly cowering Admiral at his side. Wiping his still bleeding forehead, he passed the binoculars to her which she rose to her eyes and watched the enemy South African infantry division scattering from their defensive line to garrison the city instead.

Lowering the binoculars, Falan turned and noticed that Rommel was marching across the desert in between his firing men. Falan, groaning limped after him and managed to catch up to them. The two of them only paused as they allowed a StuG III to pass by, both its anti-tank gun and machine gun firing hard against the tactically retreating Afrikaners.

Rommel's hand gripped her forearm. Together they allowed another Panzer to rumble slowly by them. This one was the panzer Rommel referred to as a 'decadent prototype'. The markings on it were the exact same markings she had seen only a day prior _, 'Sigrid II'._ This time however, the crew had taken it upon themselves to paint blood soaked teeth on the turret of the heavy panzer.

At least she hoped it was paint.

The hatch was opened and out popped a wild eyed Commander, manning the turret mounted MG-34. The machine gun buzzed as it fired upon the retreating Afrikaners. The man had a huge smile on his face, as though he was enjoying bringing death to his enemies. He turned back and immediately noticed her. His eyes widened as though he recognized her.

"Hanala'Jarva?" he roared over the Tiger's roaring engine. "Shouldn't you be off fucking the SS man?"

Utala blinked at the human. He... he _knew_ what she was? And more importantly, what in the ancestors did he mean by Admiral Jarva's daughter was… was in an intimate relationship with the SS man?

"Another quarian I guess..." the commander mused, "Christ, you take one in and another one invites herself in!"

Rommel banged his hand on the side of the panzer.

"Commander focus on the battle ahead. You did not see this!" he ordered the man with a roar over the engines.

The Admiral and the commander turned and found that Rommel had returned and was staring at the interaction between Admiral Utala'Falan and commander Dieter Hertzer. The commander had the good sense to at least focus back onto the task at hand, rather than to protest his commanding officer. Of course he would probably think twice if he realized he was discussing the sex life of an Admirals daughter to another Admiral.

Before she could process the images of Joachim Hoch preforming unspeakable acts to a girl she helped birth, whom she knew since her times in diapers. A hand fell onto her shoulder. It was Rommel and he was armed.

"They're on the run, now we push inwards, settle into their defensive lines and use them as a base of operations." Rommel spoke as he passed her a bandoleer and a Kar 98k. "Come, it's only four hundred meters to the first trenches."

Looking at the antiquated bolt action rifle, Falan slung the bandoleer over her and looked up and gaped at Rommel.

"Four hundred metres?" she repeated as she loaded the rifle gingerly. "You said we would be a kilometre minimum from the enemy."

Cocking back his MP-40 and activating his omni-tool. Rommel could only smile.

"I lied…" he spoke before he pressed his mouth close to the omni-tool. "This is Generaloberst Rommel. Push forward in to Tobruk. This city is ours again."

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"You invited _him_ to this conspiracy?!" Gerd von Rundstedt nearly bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Did I not tell you clearly that anyone outside of my circle is not to be trusted?! Then you go along and invite him to this gathering!"

Gathered around Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt was his cousin, Heinrici, who had brought along Fedor von Bock, Gunther von Kluge and Erich von Manstein, who managed to secure leave from the Eastern Front. All but Heinrici were introduced to the disguised quarian admiral. All of them unable to believe what Gerd von Rundstedt of all people had been plotting.

Of the three new arrivals, Erich von Manstein was the most bothered by the plot initiated from an old colleague. Von Rundstedt and he stood firm against mutinies against a government they did not believe in. Now however was different. The war was gearing up to be one of total victory or utter annihilation and the National Socialists were primarily to blame.

So on face value, Von Manstein was the hardest to convert. Military honour had to be pushed aside for the good of the nation every man in the room but Zorah swore to defend. If their reputation had to suffer then so be it. They had Germany to think of first.

"I have not forgotten your concerns Generalfeldmarschall," Zorah spoke as he handed Manstein a drink. "We cannot simply keep this a military uprising. This plot needs to be crafted much more cleverly. The other nations will just look at you as brutes, disloyal. This needs to be a transition. Not a civil war."

Gunther von Kluge started to clap at the words spoken by the quarian. Clearly he was in complete agreement with Halid'Zorah.

"The alien speaks the truth; this transition will be bloody enough," Von Kluge spoke loudly to the group at large. "Having Himmler and his goons Heydrich and Kaltenbrunner roaming free, controlling the civilian police force and SS, it will be sheer chaos. That is not including the ripples amongst our own ranks. God knows how many of the SA slipped into the ranks... scumbag brownshirts..."

Zorah smiled slightly. It seemed him and Rundstedt held the same concerns. Well, they would be sorted the best they could.

"I don't like this, Zorah," Von Rundstedt grumbled finally as he turned to the Admiral. "I thought I told you that the Nazis were not to be trusted into this cadre, especially not from Hitler's own inner circle."

The disguised Admiral nodded sympathetically. They were taking a risk in taking this man in. Unfortunately, it was a necessary risk the operation had to take.

"We need him. As I understand it, he's one of the more intelligent of the bunch. He will listen to reason should I present it with all the facts," Halid spoke as confidently as he could to the gathering of field marshals surrounding him. "He's the armaments minister, surely he knows what trying to keep pace with America, Great Britain and the Soviet Union is an impossible task."

Erich von Manstein stood up, straightening out his jacket as wandered off to help himself to Von Rundstedt's liquor cabinet.

"I have met him before," Erich mused as he poured himself a new drink. "He seems the only level minded one of the lot, a bit too much of an idealist. Perhaps that is why the Führer looks on him so fondly. He's not a sycophant, he's a... muse."

"If I had to choose one of that disgusting lot, then he would have to be it," Heinrici agreed with Von Manstein, nodding his head as though he had to agree more enthusiastic due to his lower rank compared to everyone else. "He can denounce the regime once he understands how hopeless the war will become if we do not act... He could help build a case against his friends should that be the course you choose."

Gerd von Rundstedt sighed; he knew when he was beaten. Though he was admitting defeat Halid continued on.

"Besides, Herr Generalfeldmarschall, you said it yourself. Albert Speer has the ear of the Führer," Zorah spoke once again. "He can do no wrong in Hitler's eyes. So if we can get him on board then he could push for rapid redeployment to key German cities should... say... during a worker's strike or a protest. His actions could lead to a new government, one of your choosing of course."

"Preferably the return of the Kaiser," Fedor von Bock growled lowly. "American style representative democracy has not worked for the German people. Hitler and his degenerate mob are that proof."

Each of the men shuddered at the thought. American federalism was an unnatural political monstrosity. It was unrealistic and dangerous naïve in the eyes of the old Prussian guard. The Weimer Republic was all the proof they would ever need.

A knock on the door caught their attention. Sighing, Von Rundstedt stood up, straightened out his uniform and hobbled slightly to the door. Standing in the doorway as he opened it was a clean cut man, dressed formally in a civilian suit. A genial smile was ever present for the old Generalfeldmarschall. It was Albert Speer, Minister of Armaments. The man who was the reason Germany was hanging on in the war. Even as bombing raids intensified, Speer was increasing production and meeting schedules, something unheard of in the history of total war.

Though Albert was smiling, he glanced around the room and found himself staring at Generals and Field Marshals. People he did not consort with often in such close proximity. His smile faltered as he turned back to Gerd von Rundstedt.

"Herr Generalfeldmarschall, I am sorry. Am I interrupting?" the Minister inquired, politeness infused in his tone.

Pressing his hand onto Speer's back, Von Rundstedt guided him to the circle.

"Not at all, Herr Minister Speer; in fact you are a guest of honour," Von Rundstedt return, though very weary of the man he was treating so kindly. "Come and take a seat. We all have much to discuss with you…"

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _"Tobruk is overrun... German's 100 meters from the command centre... They're storming our last bunkers... armour units turning away from to encircle the Eighth Army... no evacuation possible... No way to stop them... RAF lost air superiority... running low on munitions... no hope... OH BLOODY HEL-!_

That was the last broadcast from the garrison in Tobruk. The fighting there died two days ago. Presumably through the surrender of the garrison to the Germans who somehow, doubled their intelligence.

General Harold Alexander found himself in a precarious spot to say the least. In front of him was an army he did not think was moved to Libya, behind him was the famed Afrika Korps, chewing away at his reserves. To his right flank was the Mediterranean, but with the waters were infested with the U-boat fleets. No evacuation from there. To his left flank was a single German panzer division that fought as though they were the praetorian guard of old Rome. Every strike he laid against them did minimal damage while dishing back more fire then one would expect.

He had to face facts. He was officially trapped into a pocket.

For now, he needed to set up his line, prepare for the inevitable German attack and breakthrough. Dig in his tanks; lay down as many traps as he could, machine gun nests and trenches. It made him sick how he had to turn this engagement into a miniature great war. But if it meant breaking the Germans despite running low on fuel and ammunition, then it would be worth it.

"Sir, you are not going to believe this."

Alexander looked up from the map. There stood Major David Sterling, the founder of the Special Air Services, and so far the only group of men in the Africa front to given Rommel a bloody nose. Every retreat made by Rommel was purely tactical. Sterling however fought dirty and was quite proud of that fact that he could so thoroughly humiliate the Rommel with so few men.

Despite his moral shortcomings when it came to fighting the Jerries, Stirling was the best man to have at Alexander's side.

Without speaking any questioning remarks, the General instead, dropped his pen and followed the Commando out of his commando tent and into the sandstorm that awaited them. The stench of dead blood was pungent on the air. Riflemen bolted around the general, issuing orders and offering salutes to the two men as they approached where the men were running too. Sterling barked out an order and before Alexander knew it, he was surrounded by a full squad of grizzled looking SAS commandos.

Squinting through the collection of British riflemen, Alexander's eyes widened significantly. Standing there, surrounded by several of his subordinates and soldiers armed to the teeth was the Desert Fox himself.

General Erwin Rommel's hands were behind his back as he strolled along the lines of his enemy soldiers. From here, it seemed almost as though he was gloating as Rommel took in the awe of his adversaries. Alexander's men stood from their positions as he took in Erwin Rommel's commanding presence. Whether he liked it or not, Rommel was the victor to this battle.

Glancing back to his men, Rommel nodded and told them to relax without using any words. The other officers and the lower ranked, weapon wielding soldiers nodded and stood back as Rommel stepped forward, his hands behind his back as he examined the terrible state Alexander's army was in after many attempts at a breakthrough.

He paid no attention to Alexander or the leering glares of the SAS surrounding the General. His focus was on one of the wounded, being treated by an awestruck medic standing feet from the Desert Fox. Nodding briefly to said medic, Rommel reached into his coat and produced his personal water flask, handing it to the Medic for the wide eyed young private laying there, shredded by artillery fire. Rommel leaned over and offered the soldier a slight sympathetic smile, his hand patting the boy's knee.

Rommel stood up and turned to the Alexander. He stepped past the wounded man and towards Sterling and Alexander, Unfazed by the deep scowl written on the head of the SAS in Africa. He stopped and tilted his head as he took in Sterling.

"Your rag," he spoke, his brow raised as he took in the professional soldier. "You, judging from your rank, are a head of the Special Air Services. Because of you, High Command is considering executing every member of your unit when you are captured. Might I suggest you relax your attacks, if only to make it easily for yourself?"

Instead of looking concerned by the draconian methods German high command was looking into using against commando, nor moved by Rommel's suggestion to lay low until the anger subsides, Sterling merely pulled on his officer visor cap and shot the General a look of contemptuous dislike. Having spent a year hunting Rommel to no avail, only to have him standing here in front of him, untouchable and victorious was infuriating to say the least.

"We haven't even started yet, General. Just you wait…" Sterling warned the staring German.

Rommel nodded; he appeared amused by Sterling's boast. Finally, Rommel tapped his hat with his finger, still smiling slightly, more smirk than friendly jest.

"A group of my men were ambushed by a squad of yours…" Rommel turned, his words freezing Sterling's rage. "I should think their disappearance has caused quite a curiosity for you to ponder."

Sterling did not reply. His face did the talking. He was literally shaking in rage. Alexander closed his eyes and gave a brief prayer for the clearly dead commando team.

"If you would like, I could have the bodies shipped to you," Rommel continued, not bothered by the anger being directed to him. "According to the report filed on the encounter, they decided they would torture them for personal information... To say they were in for quite the surprise would be quite the understatement."

Leaving the commando fuming, Rommel turned away from him and turned respectfully to Alexander. He offered the general a tilt of his head. His expression becoming much more polite then he had been a few seconds prior.

"You appear bogged down with your wounded; would you like our assistance in treating them?" Rommel offered, gesturing back to the wounded. He appeared genuinely concerned.

In spite of knowing he needed all the help he could get, Alexander still shook his head.

"We're fine, thank you... General Erwin Rommel, I presume?" was Alexander's unexpected dry reply.

Reaching into his jacket, he produced a long, exquisite baton, encrusted with small jewels. Rommel noticed Alexander staring at it in amazement. Rommel had been promoted, although he appeared rather displeased with the baton in hand. It was like the new rank came with too many responsibilities other than waging war.

Regardless, Alexander could not help but stand somewhat straighter then before. He was standing in the presence of a man holding a higher rank then he.

"As of two days ago, it's Generalfeldmarschall now, Herr General Alexander."

Glancing to Sterling, Alexander silently ordered the founder of the SAS to back down. Sterling took a step back but the team of commandos remained standing there ready to pounce if the armed guards Rommel had.

"You have my congratulations then, Field Marshal," Alexander spoke, focusing once again on the German. "What brings you here?"

Rommel remained silent as he looked out at the wounded.

"I have come here to offer your army the chance to cease this struggle. Your friends in Egypt have not moved, nor will they risk their position to save your army. You have only one safe path out of this situation: capitulation..." The Generalfeldmarschall informed the General. "There is nothing dishonourable about swallowing your pride and allowing a surrender to occur. Saving your men's lives after they have shed their blood is the ultimate form of respect to them."

Rommel fell silent. He stood there and watched as Alexander pondered to small speech made by the German who did not want this battle to get any more vicious. Alexander turned away and looked at his men. They were beaten badly, but knowing them, they would fight on, like any good soldier would. Even beyond the point of hope.

He sighed. He would not make this decision lightly, not while being pressured by the stares of the German Marshal.

"May we have a day to think about it?" Alexander finally spoke, his tone bargaining with the German officer. "I can't very well surrender two hundred thousand men on a whim, now can I? Not when there is still a chance for a breakout."

Rommel squinted at the remark. Though he seemed to doubt Alexander's bravado, He also seemed to understand the predicament that Alexander found himself in, perhaps he even sympathized. Whatever it may have been, Alexander could not have been happier when Rommel graciously nodded his head, accepting the Englishman's request.

"Of course," Rommel permitted before adding. "I will relay orders to my men to allow safe passage through our lines back to Egypt for your more grievously wounded men. Please respect this token of good will enough not to exploit it by smuggling your army out..."

He paused and seemed to smile almost painfully.

"You would not believe how short a rope I am on now." Rommel pressed on, his tone growing much grimmer then before. "High Command asks me to start conducting this war as though I am fighting the Bolsheviks. Something I think we both should like to avoid."

Alexander nodded gravely. This sand wasn't worth fighting to the death for. They may have been foes fighting, but certainly not like the two titan ideologies slugging it out across the steppes of Russia.

"Yes... yes of course…" Alexander murmured finally. "I can see your reluctance to act like your _esteemed_ colleagues fighting in the east. Thank you for your generosity, I won't forget this."

Staring at the two men for a few moments longer, Rommel turned to his subordinates and together, the adversaries turned to leave. Not for long however, not before Alexander found his mouth moving to speak. Here stood a virtual celebrity. He had to say something, anything.

"Do you have _any_ idea how popular you are back home?" Alexander found himself asking if the departing Field Marshal. "You're a man who can do no wrong, even when you fight against us. Even the Prime Minister enjoys your exploits, albeit most painful they are to us out here."

Rommel stopped walking; slowly he turned back to Alexander. The man's ego was being fed and clearly was enjoying the praise offered to him by his adversary.

"Perhaps in a different lifetime I would have the honour to call you compatriot." Alexander concluded, feeling somewhat peculiar for speaking such a way about German.

Rommel looked somewhat thoughtful at Alexander's words. Finally he nodded, agreeing with the sentiment of the Englishman.

"It would have been nice if that were the case..." Rommel agreed with Alexander's sentiment. "I wish you luck in the meantime, if you come back to me in 24 hours with a response I do not like, I'm afraid I have to roll over you with everything I have at my disposal."

With that, the friendly words ended. Rommel ceased being a peacemaker and started showing his teeth. It became obvious to Alexander that Rommel's armies were on the doorstep. Sighing, Alexander nodded finally, his stance hardening as he narrowed his eyes at the German.

"If I choose an answer that displeases you, I will have to wish you luck as well..." Alexander shot back, just as threatening as Rommel, despite his weak position, despite his unwillingness to turn this into a massacre. "We will make you pay for every second you attack us. I will make your next battles in Egypt living nightmare."

Rommel's frown turned into a smirk as he nodded, accepting the answer.

"I expect nothing less!" Rommel agreed. He turned to Sterling and added. "As for you, I don't suppose you will be in on the deal regardless of his choice."

Sterling did not reply with anything other than crossing his arms. Rommel simply tipped his hat to the English and turned back. Back to his plotting to destroy Alexander if he failed on acting in the way Rommel wanted him to act.

Surrender or destruction, there was no middle ground.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"Montgomery has refused all attacks to the city. The RAF is harassing your army from above. If you would like, I could see if I can organize aerial combat drones to be dropped over Tobruk and at the very least guard against night attacks."

"So long as they don't get seen…."

"They don't miss, certainly not against what the RAF can deploy," Falan reassured the pondering human. "Our race is renowned for unmanned weaponry. I cannot provide many though. Maybe a dozen, anymore and I start getting asked uncomfortable questions from Jarva and Vaerhit. I'm not supposed to intervene too much. Not without approval of the rest of the Board."

The door open and in marched the general staff of the South African division captured by the Afrika Korps. Giving her a look, Rommel commanded Falan back to her corner to observe and remain silent. The general, freshly shaven as though he wanted to be in top form dispute his capture marched in as though he hadn't been overwhelmed now officially a prisoner. He snapped to attention in front of Rommel's desk, which he had confiscated from the South African in the first place when Rommel marched into Klopper's office and demanded him to surrender.

It was all very dramatic. Falan could not help but feel that Rommel relished in publicity. He was somewhat... narcissistic.

Speaking of Rommel, he decided to return the respect showed by his captured enemies. He too stood up, his hands straightening out his Generalfeldmarschall insignia. Though he acted like the new rank was not of any significance, it was clear to Falan that Rommel wasn't being entirely honest. Rommel was by far the vainest man she had ever met. Still, the Afrikaner saluted.

"General Hedrick Klopper of the 2nd South African Infantry Division," the General introduced himself. In a lower, embarrassed tone he added, "Reporting as requested... sir."

Rommel snapped out his own salute, not that stupid looking hand over head. It was simply a nice modest looking, Wehrmacht salute. His actions surprised the Afrikaner, who must have expected something from out of the German propaganda movies, or among the political soldiers of the Waffen-SS.

"What, Herr General? Were you expecting a political salute?" Rommel spoke as he dropped his hand. "I am glad that you made it in such a timely fashion, please have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?"

Staring at the bottle of brandy on his old desk, Klopper nodded.

"Why have you summoned me?" the Afrikaner inquired.

Pouring the man his drink, Rommel slid it over to Klopper as he too took a seat.

"Your subordinates have refused to cooperate with my NCO's and commissioned men," He spoke, leaning back into his seat, his hands folded on his lap as he watched Klopper sip his strong drink. "Would this be the standard unruliness, defiance in capture? Or is this this something more? Would this be something that may have been directed from higher up their chain of command?"

None of the men would answer to the charge. Falan watched as Rommel smirk as he too took a small sip from his glass. Klopper finally sighed and nodded his head. It was more than likely Klopper hadn't issued the order, but was taking the blame regardless. Still, it was clear he did not like that he was doing this.

"If the request is reasonable, I can issue an order to end the disobedience," Klopper allowed finally, his voice weary. "And what is it that you want?"

Accepting the answer, Rommel stood from his seat.

"General, in these trying times… so I shall provide you the rare courtesy of bluntness," The Generalfeldmarschall returned. "I would like to know if there are any Jews in your ranks. If there are, I would like them identified and separated from your units."

The mood in the room suddenly shifted at the mention of the Jews. Falan frowned slightly. Was Rommel up to something? Well that feeling was not exclusive to Falan. Klopper stared hard at the German, as though he was guilty of some great sin. Rommel was unfazed but he too had a ghost of an emotion Falan could not quite identify.

"Why does it matter?" Klopper inquired of the German, his voice somewhat higher than it had been before. Rommel merely shrugged his face expressionless as he stared ahead to the commanding staff of the South African division.

"The faith and the blood your soldiers are not of my concern. My esteemed colleagues in Europe don't feel quite the same way, however," Rommel explained his voice as neutral as his expression. "I suggest your Jewish officers and men convert to Catholicism or any Christian faith before they are sent north. From what I understand, Jewish POW's are sent to labour camps, treated no better the Soviet prisoners."

The group of soldiers and officers glanced to each other as though they were wondering whether or not to accept Rommel's words as the truth.

Falan blinked and shuffled nervously. What in the Ancestors was it with Germans and Jews and why in the hell did Rommel seem so uncomfortable about bringing the topic up. He seemed almost... disgusted by it. Not by the faith or the blood, but by the fact that he had to cover up his adversaries' background so that they would escape harsh treatment. It was no surprise to Falan that Soviet prisoners were treated so badly.

Fascism and Communism were interlocked enemies, and personally, Falan felt nothing but contempt for Communists. From what she saw, it was a cult. More so then Fascism, at least Fascism wasn't nearly in the same category as Communism when it came to death worship. At least the fascists wanted their soldiers thinking about a future rather than dying in droves. Communism was the worst possible scenario for the quarian people. It would be the final nail in the quarian people's coffin. It would be the final sign before Falan knew her race was nothing more than beggars and thieves as the rest of the galaxy already were viewing them as.

 _"Permission to speak freely Herr Rommel?"_

Falan glanced up. A tall man, pale, was shooting glances at a second man. He was darker in tone. He was much darker, Black as the night. The black man remained motionless as he stared ahead to Rommel.

"I can accept that I have been captured," The pale officer spoke up, his voice accented oddly, "What I cannot accept is you sending me to a prison camp with the blacks. I am not the only one who feels the same way in this room. I am merely the messenger. It might cause… _discipline_ problems."

The quarian tilted her head. What was this? Rommel's face twisted into a look of confusion as well. It was like he had not expected such words to be muttered by the man. Meanwhile, the black soldier remained perfectly unflinching to the remark made by his white superior officer. It was as though he had been told that the weather was hot.

Glancing briefly to Klopper, who had nothing to say on the matter, Rommel turned back to the soldier in front of him. He arched his brow, almost amused by the whole thing he now had to govern over.

"What uniform are you wearing?" he inquired, turning to the junior officer. "What is your rank?"

Looking confused at the question, the officer answered it.

"I am a major in the army of South Africa," was his reply. He paused to take in Rommel's troubled expression and added. "I see how it looks to an outsider, but this is a safety matter. Blacks and Whites do not mix, that is the way it goes in South Africa."

Frowning, Rommel glanced to the black soldier, a lieutenant, from what Falan could determine. The soldier straightened up taller as he felt Rommel's eyes fall on him. Suddenly Rommel chuckled. He chuckled and then a full blown laughed as though he could not believe that he was caught up in a Commonwealth race issue.

"Funny… the Negro soldier you complain about wears the exact same uniform as you, albeit a lower rank..." Rommel shot back. "In a POW camp, the colour of your skin is second to the nation you represent. You both have fought for South Africa; you both were willing to die for South Africa. I see no difference between the two of you. No... You both get the honour of sharing a prison camp. Perhaps it will broaden your horizon on service."

To say that the answer did not go over well with the white Major was an understatement. The black soldier, however, looked surprised at his unlikely defender.

"Thank you, sir…" The young lieutenant mumbled, ignoring the anger in the white Major's eyes. Rommel gave the junior officer a respectful nod, an action that swelled the lieutenant with sudden elation.

"See to it that you deal with your Jewish soldiers," Rommel concluded, turning away from the lieutenant and the Major and back to General Klopper. "If you need access to padres and any local priest, I'll provide as many as I can from local churches. This should be done in a timely factor. The moment they step into Europe they're under the SS's scrutiny. Now I must ask for you all to leave. I wish you good luck."

Nodding, Klopper stepped back. Salutes were exchanged and the South Africans left the offices. Leaving Rommel alone with Falan once more, Falan could not help but snort in disgust.

"And Admiral Vaerhit called your people racist barbarians…" she murmured next to him.

Rommel did not reply.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _Bernard,_

 _It appears that I have overplayed my hand and allowed myself to become ensnared on a trap set by newly promoted Field Marshal Erwin Rommel. He came to me and offered a ceasefire for the next day, as you have guess by now, I have begun evacuation of wounded through the German line as offered by Rommel. By the time that you received this letter it will be too late._

 _The situation had been deteriorating since the encirclement as well as the fall of Tobruk. Our tanks are running out of ammunition and petrol. We are being squeezed into a tighter pocket for the past two days. Rommel came to me and offered me terms of surrender to him. I ask of your forgiveness, of our leadership's forgiveness and more importantly the people back home for forgiveness._

 _Let me get this clear. I am not about to repeat history. I shall not be a reincarnation of the 7th Earl of Cardigan, nor possessed by the spirit of Douglas Haig. I am not about to sacrifice two hundred thousand men for a twenty square kilometres of sand and beach. Not when my adversary has so graciously offered capitulation with dignity from myself to the lowliest of rifleman. No more English blood will be on my hands. Not without a clear objective at the very least, I will not sacrifice out of principal, simply because I hate the German._

 _Though I have absolved myself of the guilt of this loss, I do hold regret. My only regret is that I will not be able to stop Rommel when he begins his attack on Egypt. Bernard, you must under all circumstances tread carefully and do not take this warning lightly. Not for a single moment. He has ceased to be a Desert Fox for which we hunted. He has become a wolf and we are all now his prey._

 _With my best wishes and a hope for victory which you will see though with,_

 _General Harold Alexander_

Folding up the letter, Bernard Montgomery shook his head, his expression troubled as he tucked the letter of capitulation into his jacket and sat back down next to the letter courier, a wounded corporal, his bare chest covered in bloodied linen. Despite his injuries, he remained lucid for the General.

How could Alexander have been so callous? He could have stayed holed up in Tobruk and waited for Rommel to come to him. Even if he had lost Tobruk, he would have significantly crippled the Afrika Korps. Now all he held was Egypt. He was defending the last of British influence in North Africa. The campaign was now in serious danger of collapse.

He would have to prepare for the worse now. With the 8th Army and potentially the SAS now in enemy hands, it was looking more and more likely that Rommel would push what remained of the forces in Africa across the Suez and re-base in the Palestinian mandate. He would also have to requisitioning enough explosives to destroy the Suez Canal roadway as well. Germany could not be allowed to get their hands on the road to India.

"Did he say anything else, m'boy?" he asked finally.

The wounded rifleman shook his head and violently coughed. He could not speak without spitting up any blood. He would live thanks to the Desert Fox's chivalry. He would not die from exposure and a lack of supplies. Deciding against straining the boy further, Montgomery clasped his hand against the boy's leg and stood up, he turned back to his aide.

"Get me in contact with command," Montgomery ordered finally, his voice growing grave. "Today is a most terrible day."

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: Clean up.**

 **That whole apartheid thing might come off as a forced thing, but apparently the conversation actually occurred. I read about it when I first wrote it, and added it in with liberties potentially taken. I'm going to and look for the article or source material when i get the chance.**

 **I think that'll be it for now. I'll see how long the next chapter is.**


	7. September 3rd, 1942

**Chapter Seven: September 3rd, 1942**

 **...**

 _Success in the desert!_

 _Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel and his infamous Afrika Korps have forced the British back from their pathetic defensive lines in El Alamein. Retreating in typical English fashion, the English cowards have garrisoned the cities of Cairo and Alexandria, swearing that they will not leave unless the Afrika Korps bomb the two wonders of the ancient world to dust. Such savagery is clear examples of the hypocrisy in the English character, who has long claimed themselves innocent in causing this war to occur between our two grand and noble nations._

 _Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel, always the honourable man in the desert sits camped outside of the cities, offering the English chances to surrender the two cities in peace, offers much too good for the scum that now infests these relics to civilization._

 _In the east, this is day three of the renewed push to conquer the soul of Bolshevism. Stalingrad, named after the treacherous communist leader, Josef Stalin. The capture of the city will deliver a decisive blow to the communist hordes that still do not understand the inherent inferiority of their political system. Fresh from the victory over controlling the Terek River, the 6_ _th_ _Army has touched the outskirts of Stalingrad. Between total air and artillery superiority, the 6_ _th_ _Army, under command of the beloved Generaloberst Friedrich Paulus is unrelenting in his attacks, which the Soviets can do little more then throw unarmed and scared men into combat against the mighty, unstoppable German war machine._

 _Should any of our listeners be the enemy still stuck in the city and on the other side of the Volga, I ask you this. End your hostilities. Cast down the shackles that have enslaved you since 1919! You have aligned yourself with a madman! The Fuhrer wants nothing more than the survival Russian people. Do not fall to the charlatans that have taught you to worship death! Who have taught you to burn your homes and throw your lives down the moment your German brothers come to liberate you from the evils of Bolshevism, to be forced to call your friends traitors because we have captured them! You are slaves now, but that can be all over once you allow yourselves to embrace National Socialists Brotherhood!_

Groaning at the Nazi screaming on the radio, Leutnant Helmut Mann leaned over and turned off the radio confiscated from some Soviet peasants. He leaned back and turned to the rest of his squad, sitting around a table, cleaning their weapons and relaxing after three days of hard fighting.

"Come and join the Nation Socialist revolution, comrade!" mumbled Feldwebel Christian Bohr, the squad MG gunner, his voice imitating the stereotypical bombastic Russian voice. "Right after the SS lynch you for the crime of being Russian, of course!"

The soldiers laughed. Even Mann found it in him to chuckle. The only one who did not have the same sort of humour as they did was Kurt Hammer, sitting by himself for good reason. He was cleaning his Flamethrower.

"The SS..." he rumbled as he polished the nozzle. "We try to fight and that lot stay in the back, harassing the locals… fucking useless, the whole lot of them."

"Not all of them are bad; I went to school with one of them before he went off to SS officer training," Mann protested Kurt's generalization. "I lost touch until we ended up in the same field hospital in France. Joachim Hoch… zealous is an understatement, he wasn't even properly bandaged before he escaped the hospital and went back to his command. He said he wanted to see Parisians crying in the street."

The quote stunned the group of soldiers hardened by battle on the Russian steps.

"' _He wanted to see Parisians crying in the street…'_ " Bohr repeated, resting his MG-34 in his lap. "That's a bit unstable of him. Are you sure he has a fucking soul?"

Mann could not help but smile grimly at the observation.

"I think he's an Oberstleutnant now or something." Mann pressed on. "My age too... God help whoever is under his command."

Once again Kurt snorted as he set his flamethrower down.

"There's nothing to envy, Herr Leutnant," Kurt reassured his C.O. "To be fair, a private in the SS could kiss Himmler's ass and be promoted to Hauptmann the next day. I hear that's how that blonde, faggot half Jew, Heydrich got anywhere."

The room exploded into a fit of laughter at the expense of the absent SS officer. Mann too laughed as well. Yes, rank didn't seem to be of importance top that lot.

The laughter subsided as a single rifle round erupted from above them, catching the squad's attention. Then there was nothing but silence. Sighing, Mann knew that the man who took the shot would not have done so without good reason. It wasn't long before footsteps were clunking downstairs. Out popped Johann Oster, Former Jaeger and now transferred into their squad. His hands clutched his webbed scoped Kar98k rifle. He took in the grins of his friend Bohr and took a seat next to him, taking the cheap cigarette in Bohr's lip and smoking it himself.

"Who'd you get this time?" Bohr demanded eagerly. Wiping his forehead, Oster shrugged.

"A Captain, I think. They dress their officers up no better than their privates. It's quite ingenious if you ask me," Oster replied, pulling back the hammer and pulling out the stripper clip. "Figure I'd leave the rest of them alone. Last thing I want to do is draw them after us. What were you guys talking about?"

Bohr nodded and stole the cigarette back from Oster, looked like he was protesting despite the cigarette not belonging to him in the first place.

"Leutnant Mann was regaling us about his friend in the Waffen-SS. Kurt is adamant that the SS's sole job is looking pretty while they harass the locals."

Oster turned and looked on his commanding officer impressively.

"Waffen-SS?" Oster repeated, speaking with a kind tone. "I fought with them outside Rostov. My old unit covered their advance into the northern sectors of the city. Solid fighters, can't fault them too much. We need shock troopers, might as well be that lot."

Once again, the only one with a serious dislike for the unit, Kurt Hammer snorted at the praise offered by the seldom speaking sniper.

"They get fresh off the assembly line equipment, the newest armour, air support at their beck and call, fancy uniforms and best grub." Kurt listed off as he laced his boots and laid back into his couch. Yawning, he added. "Of course they're going to perform better."

Oster shook his head as he placed his rifle on the floor in front of him.

"Even if that was true, which I promise you it isn't, that's not it," Oster defended his position the grumbling of agreement at Kurt's words. "It's like... they get past the bullshit fighting for the fatherland. They serve the Sturmbannführer, yeah, but they don't have rank formalities and the rank ass kissing. No offence, Herr Leutnant."

Mann raised his eyebrow but choose against saying anything to the sharpshooter, despite the laughter emitting from the men. Sighing, Oster continued.

"Their business is killing Russians wherever they decide to show up and fight. That's all they do, everything else is second," he pressed on, coming to a conclusion. "I can respect that… they're a family who plays together."

"We're a family too, aren't we?" a young man mumbled, speaking up for the first time.

"Yeah, except no one wanted you in this little family of ours, Erich. Now fuck off and get us our dinner!" Bohr snapped back to the rookie a little meaner then he probably meant to.

His face flushing as the squad laughed at Bohr's rage. Erich Fuhrmann gathered up his captured PPSH-41 and obliged the machine gunner, leaving the platoon to their laughter at his expense. A laughter that died down the moment the terrifying noise of Russian rocket artillery had begun its renewed attack. It wasn't long after that their own artillery intensified, the Stuka wails were growing more and more. Sighing and unable to believe he was stuck in this hellhole, Mann removed his cap and settled in for the night.

"Any word on what your SS friend was up to?"

The voice was Oster. Shrugging to himself Mann rolled over on his side to look at his platoon relaxing.

"Jesus, I don't know," he thought aloud to the rest of his platoon. "He could be anywhere."

"With any luck he's dead. The Waffen-SS are trouble," Kurt's voice called out, clearly frustrated by the topic at hand. "Mark my fucking words and ignore this asshole's praise. Snipers never have their heads on straight."

The platoon laughed.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Two thousand kilometres away, Joachim Hoch was by no means dead. In fact he was doing pretty damn well. A day ago he had been back on the fleet. The technicians had finally gotten around to completing Joachim's new arm, which had to be done at a slow pace. It was rather tricky to try to explain why they were building a human arm.

Since he got back he had been staring groggily at his new arm, trying to move his five machine digits. It would have been endearing to Hanala had he not been so resistant to her coddling during his recovering period. It was so bad that Hanala did something she figured she would regret it once Joachim started making sense.

Hanala invited her mother to do what she did best: Mothering Joachim back to health.

At first she figured she would be totally against it, but she really wasn't. Mother grumbled somewhat at her daughter's request, but she seemed to have found some sort of kinship with the human she had only stopped hating on principal. Of course that did not mean she was kind either, she was truly neutral on him.

So to say that it was odd to Hanala that mother was now in the kitchen, being taught to cook basic human cuisines by Lene Langer (Volunteered by Gerald, who seemed more then okay with pawning his wife off on Joachim) all for the sole purpose of nursing Joachim back to good health was quite possibly the last thing she would ever imagine Galina'Jarva of doing.

"Alright, now strain the solids from out of the top," Lene ordered. "The last thing we want would be to allow the consommé to gelatinize, nor should any bits of chicken be left in it. It's simply a light, flavourful soup, served piping hot which Joachim loves."

Smiling at her Joachim, Hanala turned from him and went off to check in on the two women cooking in the kitchen. Mother was hunched over; to say she had no culinary skills was an understatement. In spite of this, Lene was being very patient with her just like when she was teaching Hanala how to dress like a human woman; a skill much harder to do then dressing as a man like she did in North Africa.

Glancing up, she smiled dazzlingly at the younger quarian watching the two of them.

"Hanala, come in! Now Galina, I am wondering why you are the one doing this and not your daughter," Lene wondered aloud. "I was under the impression he was courting only _one_ Jarva, not two of them."

All Galina had to do was growl. That was her opinion on such things as sharing a human with her daughter.

"Oh shush now, I was just jesting," Lene headed off the anger in the quarian mother. "Tell me, does your husband approve?"

"Somewhat," Hanala's mother murmured back mutinously. "He's still on the fence or so he tells me. I think Hoch has charmed himself into our family. The only people who haven't had time with him are my son and his wife. Their daughter is quite curious about him. Thinks he's a... well... a domesticated creature... Like a dog here on Earth, I think."

Lene's eyes widened. She burst into laughter.

"You don't have to explain that to me." Lene spoke as she gathered the dirtied dishes. "My husband, Gerald brought him home to us when he was eighteen... much like a stray dog. Between him being a sweet, polite boy and Gerald begging to keep him, it took about two hours and I found myself with a new son."

The two women chuckled, though Hanala noticed her mother looking much more subdued.

"He told me that he did not want to bother Gerald and you too much," Mother observed plainly. "It seems as though he did not want to interfere in your family."

Sighing like it was an old battle she constantly had to wage; Lene knew exactly what the quarian was saying.

"Well that's just stupid of him," Lene flat out stated to both Hanala and her mother. "To tell you the truth, when he's miserable, he gets real mopey... he's just… _insecure_ I think. Probably thanks to that home life he had..."

Hanala winced at the mere mention of Lene's knowledge of how life was like for Joachim before he joined the National Socialists.

" _Home life_... if one could call it that... I saw the scars... and I knew I damn well knew something was wrong…" the human mother muttered lowly. Galina frowned and turned to her daughter.

"His Father use to hit for no other reason than a five year old Joachim protecting his Mother from him…" Hanala explained to her disgusted mother. She could not believe that she was hearing of such a thing done to a child.

Hanala looked to Lene who was equally disgusted.

"Terrible... Do now get me wrong, I approve of the occasional corporal punishment if one of my children has been acting unruly, but doing that is _unfathomable_. Only drunkards hit their children like to that sore of degree," Lene hissed as though she was going to find a way to break space and time, travel back to the twenties and kick the living shit out of Joachim's father. "Anyways, Joachim was better off with his Father dead. I dare say he's better off with his useless mother dead as well. What kind of parent doesn't go looking for her own runaway child, simply because he appreciated the powers of National Socialism and she could not? _Pathetic_... She was simply a pathetic, spineless _bitch_."

Her rage subsided as she turned to face the stunned Hanala, her lips forming into a sweet smile for the younger woman. Her hands grabbed the bowl filled with a liquid brown soup and offered it to Hanala.

"Take that in to your Joachim, Hanala. Try to get him to eat," she spoke sweetly as Hanala took the bowl gingerly. "Come, Galina, let's have a drink."

Groaning at how much humans loved to drink, Galina obliged, ignoring the smirk being offered by her daughter. Sighing, Hanala left and carefully brought the rich smelling soup out to Joachim, who was still sitting where he left her. He looked terrible, like he was close to drooling everywhere. Offering him a look of sympathy as she flattened out her long, white dress, Hanala sat on her knees in front of the human bundled in his blanket and only half dressed in his uniform.

He looked like a far cry from the man she first met in the snows of Russia back in February. He looked so... vulnerable. To be honest, Hanala needed him to get him back onto the battlefield or something. Toughening him up again, he was sweet when she had him to herself. But having him fighting and commanding... that was a whole different thing…

"I think someone should have done the medically induced coma," she nearly sunny, her voice high and friendly as she caught Joachim's attention, he offered her a twisted up smile and swallowed hard as though he had been parched.

"I'm fine, really Hanala..." he slurred, wincing as he touched his new arm. "Why is it so difficul-"

"Because limb augmentations are not simple prosthetic we can slap on and off at will." Hanala explained patiently, even if this had been the fifth time she had to tell him. "It's an actual limb, fused to muscle and bone. Whenever a part is worn out, the piece is replaced; usually one only has one surgery for a new arm."

Touching the new scar tissue, he turned back to Hanala. His eyes glazed, yet accusing.

"This is your entire fault."

Hanala closed her eyes. She did her best not to throw the steaming bowl of soup into Joachim's face.

"Well perhaps you shouldn't have jumped onto that grenade. Have you ever thought about that?" she breathed back, her voice hard as she tried to divert his annoyance into something that she could control. "You have held this incident over me long enough, Joachim. It was an honest mistake."

Although her words were chastising him, her hand unconsciously found its way snaking underneath the blanket, her hands lightly resting onto his crotch. She pressed in, her hands grip on him tightening and loosening. She smiled as she watched Joachim's intoxicated mind seem to understand what she was doing to him as her free hand fed him soup.

She paid no mind to the women in the kitchen chattering in the kitchen. Instead she carefully unzipped his trousers and pushed her hand inside, her eyes never leaving his. All ready it was too much for the man to process. Though his mind may have been affected, his body certainly wasn't.

"All right... fuck it… I'll let it slide…." he managed to groan as her hand continued move up and down him.

Hanala smirked at him as she watched him relax himself to her ministrations. A hand job in exchange for dropping all the guilt related to her blowing off his arm? She could not believe how little it took to make Joachim falter.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"Welcome back, Minister Speer. I was not expecting you so soon."

Halid'Zorah could not help but smile privately at how forced Von Rundstedt's voice sounded as he greeted the National Socialist Party official into his study. The moment Zorah and Speer locked eyes. He could tell this wasn't another casual meeting.

Minister of Armaments, Albert Speer looked stressed, more so then their last encounter, perhaps even somewhat ill. Whatever it was, he was using all his charm not to look like he was in a terrible state. He seemed to pause when he took in the quarian. It was very standard for any human still getting use to quarians plotting alongside them. Regardless, he shrugged it off and pushed past the two men and invited himself to Von Rundstedt's alcohol, much to the grumbling annoyance of the Prussian who wanted nothing to do with the National Socialist.

"I was in France on business, French volunteer workers for a new factory in Metz and all that," Speer mumbled as he joined them. "I figured I would take time out to see to you. I have A few things to talk to the two of you about."

The quarian and the Prussian watched as Speer paced back and forth. He seemed to be working up his nerve to speak to the two men. Sighing, he stopped and turned back to them.

"Twice I have asked the Fuhrer to allow me to enact a state of total war, did you know that?" Speer spoke as he set down his drink, leaning into his seat. "In America and the Commonwealth nations have utilized women to work in the factories. Knowing that their women are at home, building them their weapons provides a boost in moral, reminds them why they fight."

Halid took a seat as well. The idea made sense in a culture that kept women off the battlefields. Having those women producing arms opened a new source of loyal manpower in the factories.

"More and more I have to depend on foreign labour," Speer complained just as Halid expected. "This assignment I'm on now, gathering paid skilled French workers is always a gamble. I cannot be sure whether or not they will be loyal, whether or not they will sabotage our war industry plants. Whenever I broach the topic of recruiting German women, the Führer is insistent on keeping the German maidens and mothers far away from war production."

Sighing at how insane it all was, Albert dug into his pocket for a cigarette.

"That is not to say I do not make progress with him. He enjoys my company; despite your popular opinion of him the Führer is not a man who does not see reason," Speer elaborated as he took a long drag. "It is only a matter of pressing the right button at the right time, not to press him too hard. As I said before, twice I brought it up and twice I have nearly convinced him. I keep running into the same problem. The cheap alternative offered by that... _man_."

Rundstedt glanced over to Zorah. Speer sounded different, like he was sickened.

"Fritz Sauckel, General Plenipotentiary for Labour Deployment," Speer spoke. His voice disgusted at the mere mention of the man's name. "To call him a weasel is too kind a term for him. He sees himself as my rival and eventually my replacement. I tell the Führer that I can get a million women working in the plant in a year, slower production somewhat at first but it would quickly streamline once they know what to do. Sauckel, on the other hand, tells Hitler he could move a hundred thousand foreign labourers into Germany a month at next to no cost to us, other than shipping fees."

Halid's eyes widened. He could not believe what he was hearing. Neither could Von Rundstedt who looked visibly ill at what Speer was inferring.

" _Forced labour…_ " Halid found himself repeating, his voice faint. He looked up to Speer. "Do you accept it?"

Letting his cigarette drop into the ashtray, Speer nodded his head, unable to look at the two military men in the eye.

"I have no choice other than to take what I am given, Herr Zorah," Speer returned, his voice calm despite the horrific topic at hand. His head turning up to the quarian "The armament of Germany's armed forces is in my hands now. I cannot be picky when I need labourers. Make no mistake. I protested it many times and the Fuhrer has sympathized, but the Führer is a master in making ultimatums. He simply asks whether I need workers or not. In the end I do, so I get find myself stuck taking them in."

Zorah took off his Heer cap, his hand running through his hair. _Slave labour_...What in the Ancestors had he gotten himself into? He really should have seen this coming.

"Their condition, Speer, how are they treated in the working environment?" he found himself asking.

Speer shrugged haplessly.

"I don't know how they are treated when they are brought to me, presumably bad," Speer explained to the sickened quarian. "I do everything within my power to feed and clothe them. When I have budget surplus, I distribute the funds. I am not allowed to do so but no one stops me from doing it. I just can't... I can't stop it by myself, no matter how reprehensible I find it."

Gripping his arm rests, Von Rundstedt snorted derisively.

"So Sauckel provides a cheap alternative to total war mobilization and croons the Führer into believing that women should be kept out of the war efforts." He summarized. "Why should I believe you? How do I know you are not trying to save your neck Armament Minister not aware of his labour source who is shifting the blame to a glorified bureaucrat? If what we do is successful, we do not look legitimate with the likes of you working for us."

The words stung even Zorah, who was about to defend Speer from Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt's rage, but as it turned out. Twenty years of debating with Adolf Hitler made Speer invulnerable to being fazed by the Prussian. If anything, the Minister of Armaments was ready.

"You think I am the only man in this regime that has blood on his hands?" Speer retorted, his voice as calm as the grave. "At least I will confess that I should have done more. You are by no means innocent Von Rundstedt and you are much more deluded about your role in this madness. You think I am blind to the military actions in Russia? I know that you yourself signed off on the Severity Order."

Zorah squinted. _Severity Order?_ This was the first he had heard of it. He glanced back to Rundstedt who looked somewhat pale at the remark.

"As a means to stop partisans hitting the army supply routes," Von Rundstedt hissed back, defending himself from Speer's charges. "Partisans are not innocent the moment they pick up a gun and try to kill some poor rifleman ordered to stand there by me! I am not the one accepting slave labour to build an arsenal."

Speer crossed his arms.

"I imagine you have no complaint about it," Speer challenged, looking somewhat amused now. "You've equip your army with slave labour built weapons and munitions and you would have the nerve to not indict yourself either?! This is _your_ war! You have craved it since the end of the last one and now you have it! You and the rest of the bloody militarists! I should be building homes, parks and buildings. You know, planning the future of Germany, not building guns, bombs and providing you simple minded soldiers any more means to end life!"

"How _dare_ you speak to me like that, you filthy little brown shirt!" Rundstedt roared at him. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to strangle Speer. "You… a disrespectful, second rate, talentless architect; the only reason you are relevant is because Hitler needed someone to live his fantasies vicariously! You are irrelevant, you will always been irrelevant!"

Zorah could not believe how quickly this was spiralling out of control now. He had to do something, anything to stop this. The thing was this reminded him of his youth on the Citadel and finding himself witnessing an argument between a krogan and turian. You simply could not do anything more then watch it in awe.

" _Irrelevant_?" Speer laughed at him. "Let me tell you something, when I took over this position after Todt's demise, I went on a fact checking mission. Do you know what I found? I found that commercial goods were being produced at levels before the war began, some factories had half days! A factory in Berlin had no one working at it at all! Meanwhile you were off on your Russian adventure, blowing through manpower and material, blissfully unaware how close to collapse the nation was thanks to Todt's corruption!"

Before Von Rundstedt could reply, before Zorah could intervene, Speer stood up.

"Oh will you shut up you pompous _fool_?!" he hissed, his collected tone turning into a voice of rage. "The only reason you can field an army in France is because of me. While we're discussing this, shall we speak about the ineptitude of the Wehrmacht incompetent in occupation of foreign nations?"

Insulting the army… that had to be the stupidest course of action one could take in the presence of the Field Marshal. Yet Speer did not back down from it.

"Do you have any idea how much military power is being squandered in countries like Denmark, Belgium and the Netherlands? Well I do, I read the reports and it made me sick to my stomach. There are one hundred thousand men a piece occupying Belgium and Netherlands, Denmark, which you lot conquered using maybe two hundred rounds of ammunition and a two minute artillery barrage. You have two hundred and twenty thousand men stationed there, for what? Waiting for King Christian to order his queer little guard to fight the armoured units in Denmark with cavalry and sabres?"

Rundstedt's hand was resting on his pistol belt. He looked tempted to actually use it as the Hitler's closest confidant raged on.

"Do I now have to take the role of amateur tactician?" Speer raged on. "How hard would it be to cut the occupation force to twenty five thousand men in each of these countries and set them in one centralized area, where if a revolt occurs, an overwhelming response can quell it in a day or two. Much more efficiently then spreading your occupation forces thinly across Europe."

Zorah turned back to Von Rundstedt who appeared much calmer. He seemed almost impressed by idea Speer had for a quick reaction force to any serious partisan incursions. But Speer was done just yet.

"No, I imagine you would not have thought about that, typical Prussian arrogance, I'm going to assume, it keeps you from anything unconventional thinking." Speer pressed on, his voice nearly rasping. "If it was Walter Model standing before me, he would have implemented this years ago before I even thought about it. He might be a foul mouthed peasant in your eyes, but at least he can adapt, not like you Junker dinosaurs looking to convert Germany back to the bloody _1870's_."

Silence fell as Speer stopped his rant. He stood there, breathing hard as though he was the Fuhrer in the midst of one of his famed rants Rundstedt had informed Zorah about. Speaking of Gerd von Rundstedt, he did not breathe a word. He simply stood there, staring at the civilian. Suddenly, Zorah watched Von Rundstedt do something he never witness before from the elderly Prussian.

He belly laughed, leaving Speer confused as he dug for another cigarette.

"I haven't been dressed down like that since my _father_ was still alive!" Rundstedt spoke between his laughter as he took a seat. "You still have not answered my question. Why should we trust you?"

"You can't, just as I cannot trust you," Speer finally spoke, his voice low. "All I have is my word. I only accept the labour which is given to me. As bad as it may be, I cannot simply reject it and let Germany lose the war because of a moral stance I may want to stand up for. All I can say in my defence is this. It's better me standing here then my replacement. Last time it was Goering looking to take this position from me. Now I have Himmler breathing down my next. I hold more power than Himmler wants me to hold. Power being restrained by a man with a conscious."

Zorah and Von Rundstedt once more shared a look. Very disturbed at what he heard, it took less than ten seconds for Zorah to come up with a plan.

"Tell me, Herr Speer. Do you think Sauckel be missed?"

Speer's head snapped up to the quarian. Zorah himself not believe what he was suggesting.

"Say on the next flight to Berlin, Sauckel was to have an accident." Zorah found his words being spoken delicately. "Would the Führer become resolved in continuing Sauckel's legacy, or would it provide you with a chance to get the Fuhrer's ear once more?"

Speer thought about it for a good, long moment.

"The Führer has thousands of yes-men at his disposable. I am the only man in the Reich outside of the military whom the Führer will debate respectfully with," Speer spoke in a resigned confidence as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the floor next to him. He looked up and added. "It will take all my efforts, but I think I can do something about it..."

Speer paused; slowly he smirked slightly, as though he had grown fond of Zorah's inkling of an idea.

"If you were to act in such a manner you suggest," Speer spoke slowly, deliberately. "I can assure you that no man or woman in Germany would shed a tear for Fritz Sauckel."

Frowning, Zorah ducked his head as he realized what he was about to do. Step over a line that he did not want step over. Sure he would guide the humans into doing it, but he figuratively pulling the trigger was a vast violation of the ground rules set before his time by the now deceased Jalina'Calis; Rules that Alaan'Jarva, the unofficial head of the board still demanded this project be undertaken by.

Well the moment Hanala'Jarva crashed on earth and interfered with the humans' war and uncovered the Prothean wreck site to satisfy her own hubris, all of the rules were tossed out. Alaan had no clue how complicated handling these humans was. He had tried his best to handle it delicately but in this case he had to shed blood. For the good of the alliance, this man Sauckel had to be cut out now.

"Request a meeting with Hitler that involves Sauckel leaving his post, I will handle the rest," Zorah asked of Speer at long last. "In the meantime, I would like to know more about this labour program he controls."

Accepting another drink from Rundstedt to help loosen his lips, Speer obliged in every terrible detail he knew about.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Somewhere over Poland was a lone Junkers plane flying back to Berlin. The pilots harassed into doing so, the occupant furious beyond hell that he had been so shafted by that two bit architect leech on the Führer's back side.

Fritz Sauckel could not believe that Speer was throwing a party for the Führer and it took Funk to tell him. Walther Funk of all people! Christ almighty. He had made so much head way and that Funk was who was boasted about the gala with the Führer. Here he was breaking his back fuelling Speer's war machine and he here he was being treated like a peon as a result!?

Well that would not be for long. Speer may have been doing a good job, but that would not be for long. Inevitably the power would go to his head and the Führer would realize that his pet would not be right for the job at hand. At long last he would finally get the respect he deserved.

Or so he thought he would finally get. Unfortunately for him, fate had other plans for such a slimy, pathetic creature.

A sudden and rushing force smashed against the side of the fragile transport plane. It was as though a wave of turbulence had rushed on by them. Before the scrawny man could realize it, Sauckel and his assistant fell out of their seats as the plane buckled and banked from the near air collision.

"What the hell was that!?" He heard the pilot scream out.

Ignoring his assistant gathering his papers from the floor, Sauckel stepped over her and moved to the closest window to take a look at what the hell had happened. There hovering a mile above the earth was a craft, triangular in design, slick and grey. It simply hovered there as the craft watched the Junkers transport tried futility to continue on its path.

As though the slick alien vehicle had grown bored with toying with the transport plane, it turned and rushed off far ahead of it, leaving Sauckel wondering what madness this was. Was it that new fabled jet fighter the Luftwaffe was boasting about? Was it Soviet? Was it the Americans or the British?

Whatever side the craft belonged to, Sauckel did not have time to react. The craft made a sharp turn and roared right back at them and fired what looked like a stream of blue bolts at Sauckel's plane, shredding through the aircraft and exploding plane into nothing bigger then scrap metal.

Fritz Sauckel was dead before he could even have a chance to know it.

...

...

Bringing the Ostavo-class one seat fighter to a hover, just over five hundred meters above the propeller powered transport plane crash site, the pilot engaged the thermal projector, the fighter searched for ay heat signs belonging to any survivors. Finding nothing but fire and deciding to check in before the Germans sent a task force to check out the crash, the pilot kicked the fighter into full gear and launched the ship into the stratosphere.

The pilot could not believe she had just done that to such a primitive air vessel. She had taken lives in a manner not dissimilar to an assassination. She hadn't killed before. She may have been eighteen when she was thrown into the final offensive against the geth. That was different... geth were not sentient beings. They were a calculation error, nothing more. This however ended this man and ancestor knows how many aboard the plane.

Sighing, she activated her commlink. She needed to check in with the boss.

"Admiral Zorah, This is Captain Daer'Halios. Target has been neutralized," the pilot called over her communication device. "No sign of survivors. Are there any other targets?"

It took a while to get a response. When Zorah made a request of her fighter service, he looked different. As though he had spent the evening vomiting, he was sick and shaking with a strange expression written on his face. Like a terrible nightmare which he could not wake up from.

 _"Negative on that,"_ Admiral Zorah returned quickly, his voice somewhat more commanding then before... _"Good work Captain, return to the Kareon and resume your duties. This action did not happen, understood?"_

Nodding as she made her way past Earth's stratosphere, The Captain of the Kareon said, "Yes sir."

As the commlink connection died from Admiral Zorah's end, Daer'Halios could not help but wonder the crimes of this one man she was sent after. Whatever it may have been, Halid'Zorah had dropped his well-crafted image of preferring diplomatic solutions. If Zorah wanted you dead, then in all likelihood it was a death well earned.

 **…**

* * *

 **...**

 **Changes: More clean up**


	8. September 20th, 1942

**Chapter Eight: September 20th, 1942**

 **...**

 _"THEY WENT THAT WAY!"_

 _Waiting only until the fire brigade had shown up to bring the arson attack under control, Sturmbannführer Gerald Langer removed his P08 Luger from his holster and followed the cries of his fellow Schutzstaffel officers._

 _Today the group were chasing down three communists whom the Gestapo had been tracking for the past three months. Well they failed in their duties and as a result these three bastards just shot up a recruitment office and hit the building with a petrol bomb. They had signed their own death certificates, Langer and his pack of subordinates would see to that._

 _One of the communist, a kid no more than eighteen turned back, to the SS men chasing them; he fired his revolver as he covered his comrades. Langer, Wilhelm Kurtz and Amon Thalberg simultaneously stopped their chase. Thalberg and Langer fired their pistols, Kurtz his MP-34 at the men. The combined fire caught the pack of communists. Hitting two of them in the back as they ran like the snivelling coward they were._

 _Wide eyed, the last communist, the kid with the revolver abandoned his dead comrades. He fired another round; catching Kurtz in the arm and dropping the Heavy set man to the ground. Langer and Thalberg halted their advance and turned their attention to their wounded comrade. Thalberg's hands wrapped tightly around the wound, making Kurtz cry out._

 _"Tend to him; I'll deal with the boy," was Langer's order as he gathered up the last of his stamina and started his bolt after the boy who looked like he was a marathon runner. He got off one more round, drying the Luger's magazine. He slowed briefly as he reloaded and ducked as the kid fired a round at him, nearly hitting his mark._

 _It was growing harder and harder to focus on running and shooting for Langer, who hadn't been in a firefight since November 10th, 1918. So now he nearly out of breath as he turned the corner and chased the kid into the alley the boy had ducked into not thirty seconds prior. Breathing hard, he did his best to control his breathing and remember his training._

 _Unfortunately for him, being an old soldier did not quite cut it compared to the whiles of youthful unpredictability. Before Langer knew he felt hand grip him by his jacket and twist him around. Langer found himself staring in to the wild desperate eyes of a boy perverted by Jewish-Bolshevism. He felt the hot barrel of the revolver press against his forehead._

 _His thoughts were strange in this sort of situation he was now stuck in. He did not think about his own demise, but rather the devastating effects it would have on his small family. Helena, eleven years old having to grow up without a father... Lene, who was pregnant for the past month. How could he do this to them? He should have forgotten his anger about being attacked, let the kid run off, no harm, and no foul._

 _His face remained neutral, no matter how much regret he felt._

 _"You better just drop your gun, you fascist bastard," the boy managed to speak without a stutter that was clearly brewing. "I'll scatter your brains all over your fancy uniform if you try anything."_

 _Before Langer could react, a wooden board with a nail sticking out of it caught the communist in the back of his head. The nail pushed through the kid's skull. He remained frozen, clutching the Captain in his arm. The board pulled out and again and again, the board and nail penetrated through the skull until finally the body lost all of its life._

 _With one final resounding crack, the board and nail remained stuck in the boy's skull. Clearly dead, the boy fell to the pavement in front of Langer's feet. Blood trickling from his drained brain which was now exposed by the severe beating he received._

 _Death was nothing new to Langer, so his eyes were not focused on the dead kid, but rather the kid who had saved his life. He stood there breathing hard. Tall, thin, his mop of brown hair dishevelled and covered in blood. He looked stunned, amazed by what he had done to a young man not much older than himself. Regardless, there was one trait that impressed Gerald the most. He seemed indifferent to killing him._

 _Offering the kid a smile, Langer bent over to check the dead boy; his Luger pushed the communists head from side to side. Satisfied, he stood back up, his hand patting the boy's shoulder._

 _"He's dead... good hit, kid..." Langer finally found his voice. He paused and added. "Well... hits."_

 _The kid nodded blankly._

 _"Yeah..." he muttered back. "Well he had it coming."_

 _Amazed by the boys aloof attitude, Langer watched as the kid reached into his pocket and produced a gold cigarette box out. The one piece of wealth he held in comparison to the rumpled denim jeans and brown long sleeve coat he wore, both of which ruined by blood._

 _Watching the kid suck back on his cigarette, the only acknowledgement of the kill he made was a glance at the dead boy and the slight shake in his hand as he smoked. Langer finally extended his hand to the young man._

 _"Sturmbannführer Gerald Langer," he introduced himself to the boy. "And you are?"_

 _Eyeing the hand suspiciously, the young man finally shook it._

 _"Joachim Hoch."_

 _Letting go of his hand the bloodied SS captain offered the boy named Joachim Hoch a sly grin._

 _"Well Hoch, I cannot tell you how much of a debt I owe to you now."_

 _The boy did not reply as he turned his focus to the communist yet again._

 _Footsteps ran towards them, breaking his focus upon Joachim Hoch It was Amon Thalberg. His hands bloodied but still clutching his Luger. He peered down the alleyway, looking relieved to see Langer, yet suspiciously Hoch, both of whom stood over the dead communist._

 _"Herr Langer, are you okay?" he enquired as he approached, slowly holstering his Luger as he joined the two men. Langer merely smiled as steadily as he could. He paid no mind to Hoch's sharp blue eyes burning a hole into his head._

 _"Not my blood, Thalberg. Communist ambushed me..." Langer admitted as he holstered his pistol. "This kid's a hero."_

 _Thalberg arched his eyebrow as he focused on the dead communist._

 _"Truly?"_

 _Glancing at the kid laying in a pool of blood, Joachim reared his head back slightly and spat in the dead boy's hair._

 _"A blunt board and a nail is all a communist is worth…" Hoch's simple reply came. It was nearly as lifeless as the kid he had killed._

 _Langer and Thalberg shared a look. Langer could not help but smirk as Thalberg laughed, his hand hitting the kids shoulder. Langer's smirk widened as he took in the awful look of annoyance splashed across Hoch's stern expression. He was not in the mood to laugh. Not when he killed a boy and saved a man he had no reason to save in the first place._

 _"I like this kid, Langer! You'd do well having him protect you from now on," Thalberg gloated. "Don't worry about any murder charge. If anything you'll be up for a lifesaving medal for sure."_

 _It was in that moment that Langer realized that Men like Thalberg would be a constant pain in his ass. Talking about medals and citations rather than progressing the party to all time heights. This was not just some glorified boy scouts, or the Hitler Youth. The SS was poised to become the most powerful organization in Germany, soon to be Europe. Thalberg and the rest of the former SA goons that were incorporated into after the purge simply did not understand. This was not simply beating an enemy to a pulp or worse, this organization could one day replace the military. That by itself was what Germany needed, vibrant young men not afraid to grow._

 _And here, staring hard at him was a young man with a future set out before him, waiting for the divinity of the SS to touch him, to mould him into Gerald Langer's legacy._

 _"Lifesaving medal, what a bunch of shit," Gerald muttered to the young Joachim as Thalberg left. "Come on kid, you're coming home with me. You can have a nice shower and a meal; it's the least you earned from me. Then we can discuss your future, should you want to continue down this path."_

 _He gestured to the dead communist, the first body in Joachim's future career. It took only a moment before Joachim nodded and finally offered a slight smile._

 _"I think I would not mind it," the boy spoke as he followed Gerald out of the alley and towards a path being planned by the older man._

...

* * *

...

It was just another quiet day for the two of them... well, three of them, technically.

Heinrich Fuhrmann elected himself as the driver for Hanala'Jarva and Joachim Hoch's outing to the Tiergraten. Something that wasn't at all necessary, yet he still did it regardless. Joachim assumed it was meant as payback for Joachim making the kid drink far too much then he could tolerate. His presence made any physical contact almost impossible.

Hanala and Joachim both did not like displaying what they had, a fact that Fuhrmann capitalized on quickly. Not that the Unteroffizier would admit it to either of them in fear of getting in trouble by the two of them.

Personally Hoch wondered why Fuhrmann was still playing chauffeur. He was on leave technically serving the quarian interest on Earth rather than just Hanala and him. Why he wasn't spending more time with Helena was beyond his comprehension. She was a fine young woman.

"Herr Hoch," he heard Fuhrmann speak up. "Were you expecting visitors?"

Looking away from Hanala, he looked out the window and to the house instead. Standing there in the street was a woman, frazzled, scrawny. Her outfit aged and frayed. She appeared lost as she simply stood there, staring at Joachim's home as though it held a special spot for her, or she was waiting. Whoever it was, it was simply queer. Joachim turned to Hanala who did not appear to hold the same suspicion as he did.

Whispering _"stay here,"_ to the quarian, Joachim climbed out of the car first and lightly stepped towards the woman who, still hadn't reacted to his presence.

"Can I help you?" He spoke emitting a false brightness to the woman, masking whatever doubts he held for her and her reasons to be here.

The woman snapped out of her trance and turned right around. Taking one look at him, the woman, whose face seemed older than it, should be shrunk down into a fear for neither Joachim that wasn't lost on him, nor was it to Hanala as she too stepped out of the car. Her look became subservient like. It did not bother Joachim. The uniform was intimidating for citizens who tried to stay out of the SS's path.

"Oh...I'm sorry, Herr..." She mumbled, trying not to sound worried. "I thought this house was empty. I- I'll go."

The woman froze like she was routinely beaten the moment Joachim's natural hand reached out and gripped her forearm.

"Why are you here?" he spoke plainly, earning a slight frown from Hanala as she watched the events unfold. His concerns were not unfounded; this home was housing quarians and their technology. He did not like the locals lingering too long around this place.

Feeling her shaking, Joachim allowed his grip to ease, the older woman shrugged, her head still low.

"I use to live here…" she murmured to him. "I just thought I would see it be-before I moved on."

Oh god... It was her.

Joachim raised his brow; his mouth did not offer her a kind smile but rather an imperious look.

"Greta, you were to marry Hans Hoch…" he guessed.

Greta's head was bowed as she slowly nodded in confirmation. Joachim silently exhaled. A ghost from a past he barely knew existed had returned to haunt a home that held everything for her, yet nothing for him. Still she twitched; she looked famished, like she had starved herself.

"Hans was my brother," Joachim continued, as she dropped her subservient behaviour and looked up to him finally. "Michael and Christian died in the last war as well. My name is Joachim Hoch I never met any of them."

The woman nodded her head mournfully.

"I know…" she admitted. "Your Mother… she kept in touch as much as she could. They were all wonderful. I think you would have loved them."

Mother kept in touch… of course.

"So I am told," Joachim stiffly returned, readjusting his uniform. Glancing to Hanala who stood there at his side like a dutiful wife, he patted her forearm and added. "Hana, you go on in."

Frowning slightly, Hanala nodded and, with one last glance at the Hans ex-fiancée through her dark sun glasses, she moved past Hoch and headed indoors, leaving Joachim and Greta alone outside of the house.

"My wife, she's a mute." He explained to the older woman as Hanala headed to the home with Fuhrmann trailing her. "I found her in Belgium. She just sort of stuck…"

The word wife earned Hanala's attention. She turned back for a fraction of a moment, unable to believe her ears before she was ushered inside by Heinrich. Greta could not help but smile nervously.

"Oh... She seems lovely. Congratulations..." she struggled to find a compliment.

Hoch nodded and the two of them fell into an uncomfortable silence. It gave Joachim a chance to inspect this woman closer. Her clothing smelled old and filthy, like she hadn't changed in a month. He could not help but notice a discoloured section on her right breast jacket, like... like a patch was removed.

"How is your Mother?"

Joachim snapped his focus to the woman and offered her a cool smile.

"Dead, thankfully," he informed her. "Kiel was hit by British bombers."

Greta's thin face offered him a sympathetic look. She looked hurt by the news.

"I'm so sorry. They were good people..." She got out, her voice low, nervous as she addressed the last in the Hoch family. "Your Mother wrote me every week until the January... she had convictions, so did your father."

 _Convictions_? What convictions? Mother was a socialist and Father was a useless communist. Two things he tried to keep buried deep from investigation. There were no values involving both groups those two belonged to, just a couple of godless pariahs. Clearly this woman had a golden view of these two people, idealistic vision of people long since dead.

"My mother was a weak willed _bitch_ , my Father a useless drunk who hit me and my Mother because he was a miserable amputee." Joachim snapped at the woman suddenly, making the woman flinch. "You call them people of convictions; tell me when this was, because I never before saw it. So do me a favour and give me an example Frau..."

"Ruach."

It didn't take genius to sort the pieces out now for Joachim. The patch missing, her state, clearly caused by years of seclusion… Why she had chosen to come here in broad daylight was beyond his comprehension. Whatever it was, the pieces all hit. Greta was a Jew in Germany, long after Jews were permitted to live in Germany.

"I see..." Joachim whispered his mouth a frown as he tried to keep himself neutral. "And I suppose you're on the run..."

His words were like a slap in the face, the final straw to what little sanity she probably had left. That was when Greta Ruach made the worst possible decision. She reached into her pocket and pulled a compact pistol, no more than a.22 calibre. Regardless of the calibre, it still posed enough of a risk to make Joachim take a step back.

She held the pistol shakily at him. Shaky, but still she was close enough to not miss her mark.

"The only reason I'm not shooting you is because of your parents," The woman stuttered, clearly frightened by the uniformed man despite holding him hostage. "Pl-Please don't aggravate this. I never wanted to do this. I-I was passing through and I just needed a place to hide and this place… I thought it was abandoned."

Joachim did not move. His hands were raised in front of his chest. His eyes glanced back and noticed Hanala standing there in the window, her eyes widened. Narrowing his eyes, she remained there not moving from the scene. Joachim turned back, his eyes narrowed at Greta who could not believe she was doing this.

Perhaps all she needed was a push.

"Do you realize how _stupid_ this is?" Joachim found his voice, his tone taunting the woman as he took a step forward. "Shooting me right in my front yard, an _Obersturmbannführer_ no more than three blocks away from the local police?"

The woman jumped slightly, but did not back down.

"You think I _care_ anymore?" Greta shot back incredulous to his warning. "Do you have any idea how much I have been _humiliated_? How much I have suffered by your type? My family has been rounded up. My husband and my children are gone. I don't know where they are... all because of the likes of you..."

She trailed off, tears in her eyes as she tried her best to remain resolved in her position of authority over the SS officer. Joachim frowned, he decided against showing any feeling for the woman's life after Hans. If she wanted to add to the Jew population then that was her prerogative.

" _Likes of me?"_ he repeated incredulously.

She nodded.

"I was never involved in any Jewish activities. Whatever happened to you and your family happened on other people's watch, not mine. I have no quarrel with you so don't delude yourself into believing there should be one." Joachim spoke in low growl to the woman. "If you plan on running then by all means run. I am sympathetic to your reasons... I won't stop you leaving right now, but trust me. I have seen bad ideas before, but holding me up like this is a _very_ bad idea."

Still the woman didn't reaction to his offer; it was as though she was frozen in terror of retribution. She had painted herself in a corner. All because of an expression Joachim had made. Well judging from Hanala who stood behind him in the home, her eyes wide, if he didn't do something now, Hanala would and it would be significantly worse fate then what Joachim had in mind for the woman.

"Listen to me now, you _stupid_ woman. Do you have any idea how retarded you look?" Hoch hissed once again at the shaking woman, still unfazed by the pistol pressed into his chest. With a shake of his head, he spat. "You _people_ , everything is below you, isn't it? You had a decade to leave this mess but yet you persisted to ignore the laws in place. How stubborn do you have to be to live here in this country despite the attitude of the nation towards your people and then you accuse everyone but yourself of losing your family. Bu no, instead you show up here, I'm going to assume you planned to squat here in my brother's home, which I now own... Then you have the _**AUDACITY**_ to threaten to gun me down simply because I wear this uniform and asked you a question! Well go on and do it!"

The woman jumped back slightly as the sheer rage caught her off guard. If she wasn't frightened before, then she certainly was now.

"You look like Hans... almost like a twin... but you're not a Hoch I remember," the woman sobbed out. "You're just a malevolent ghost belonging to a good family. They would be so ashamed by you."

It was hard to believe that so few words spoken by the woman would cause the usually reserved Hoch to lose control.

"Well, they're all _dead_ now, are they not?" He retorted as quickly as she stepped back as he screamed at her. "Only the strong survive in this world. My brother's died in the war because they had no strength to survive it. My Father died to the French because he was a death worshiping communist, my mother died to the bombs because she weak… consorting with _Jew_ rats - an activity that could ruin my career! The only person that amounted to anything in this god forsaken family is _**ME**_."

His chest was heaving as tunnel vision and his rage forgot about the pistol. It was always the same. Everyone from the Hoch's past life held him to the standards of his family's ghosts.

 _"I am the only Hoch that matters now. I am the only Hoch that can save you now!"_ he continued to scream at her. " _Not even your precious little Hans, that weak willed useless, degenerate Jew love-!"_

A small crack and an unimaginable pain shot through his face. Joachim roared in agony as he slumped to the ground, his face splashed with hot blood. He writhed on the ground in agony as he clutched his cheek. He coughed, spitting out one of his own molars. He rolled over trying to move himself; he ignored the panic from Greta who stood there stunned by her own actions. She had gunned down Hans only surviving family member. SS or not, his insults aside... she could not believe she did it.

The pistol dropped from her hands as she clutched her mouth.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry! I-I shouldn't have done that...Please... please don't die..."She sobbed as she tried to touch the young man she shot. Joachim cried out in agony as he rolled over, trying to escape her like Greta should done and now only realized what she had done in the first place.

The door to the house burst open, causing Greta to fly upwards. Standing there was Hanala, her eyes filled with fire and malice as she marched towards Greta. In her hands was Fuhrmann's MP-40. The woman's eyes widened in fear; Behind Hanala was Fuhrmann who could not believe what had happened. He was even more surprised that his gun was no longer in his hands.

 _"Please I didn't mean-"_

Hanala's mercy was extended only between the time it took for Hanala pulled the trigger and the nine millimetre rounds exploded from the barrel. Greta's chest exploded as Hanala methodically unloaded the entire magazine into the woman. Thirty two rounds that didn't miss as Hanala marched calmly towards the woman now torn apart by her rage.

Greta Ruach collapsed like a ragdoll, staring up at the sky as she died alone.

Dropping the empty sub machine gun, Hanala rushed to Joachim's side as he struggled to breath. Carefully Hanala lifted him and forced his face down to allow the pool of blood and teeth to pool on the dirt pathway. Carefully, Hanala dragged her Joachim to the car.

"Fuhrmann, deal with the police and gather his teeth!" Hanala ordered as though she still held a rank her hand gesturing to the pool of blood and several of Joachim's broken teeth. "I have to get Joachim a transport out of here. Meet us at the edge of town!"

Fuhrmann was wide eyed and nodded as Hanala laid Joachim down. He grabbed his MP-40 and went off to pacify the neighbours coming to investigate what had happened.

"Han-ala..." Hoch mumbled to mumble through the blood pooling. With shaking lips Hanala placed her lips onto his head.

"Do not strain yourself. Just keep reclined and hold the cardigan over your cheek. I'm getting you out of here... I'm taking you home with me... Just don't die…" Hanala returned as she pulled away and climbed into the driver's seat.

Fighting back her tears, Hanala roared the Mercedes to life and stamped on the accelerator. Leaving Fuhrmann dealing with the crowd gathered around the dead woman.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _"Come on in, Hoch I can assure you my family doesn't bite."_

 _Hearing her husband from the front door, Lene Langer could only sigh. It was actually quite the contrary. If there was one thing that Lene Langer did not like, it was Gerald dragging home people unannounced, let alone this boy... This despicable looking stray entered her home, filthy like a homeless child._

 _Ignoring her own feelings of annoyance, Lene tugged off her apron and quietly stepped into view. She did not blink as she took in her husband bloodied despite his half-hearted attempt to clean himself. Getting covered in some dissidents' blood was an occupational hazard that Lene had accepted the moment Gerald came home from the Night of the Long Knives, having confessed to hunting down many men in the SA who followed in that faggot Rohm's footsteps._

 _She glanced to her side and noticed Helena standing shyly beside her. She was young and just starting to see boys in a new light... She would admit that the young man was tall, dark and handsome, if not for his hair and almost demure behaviour._

 _"Lene, Helena, this is my new young friend, Joachim Hoch He saved my life today!" Gerald introduced the young man jovially. "I think it warrants dinner at the very least."_

 _Lene arched her eyebrow and tried to grateful even though she felt less than pleased at the unexpected guest on her door step. Shooing Helena along who appeared fascinated with the young man, she simply offered the boy a smile rather than accepting his handshake. The blood underneath his fingernails was not lost to her as she turned to eye her husband suspiciously. Shaking her head she left, leaving the two men alone._

 _"Never mind her, she's pregnant, an attitude is typical," She heard Gerald say to the boy, words that made her cringe. "Go on and have a shower, up the stairs, third door to the right."_

 _Silently the boy left. As Joachim passed by her, he offered her a simple nod as he headed up to the second floor. Lene scowled to herself. The little cretin didn't even bother to take his ugly looking shoes off._

 _This Joachim was going to be a hard case to crack. He clearly came from less than ideal circumstances. Less than ideal meant not having money to Lene. Still, it wasn't something Gerald couldn't handle. For now she would accept this one encounter. Lene preferred it when Gerald left his work at the office._

 _Speaking of Gerald, he stomped into the kitchen. Like Joachim before him, he too was wearing his boots. Most likely some male superiority complex that forced him to compete with a younger specimen. Whatever it was it made Gerald think that he was the undisputed master of the house._

 _"What are you doing?" Lene spoke as she turned down the stove and turned back to him. "Bringing in a vagabond like this, you could not have forewarned me first?"_

 _Grabbing a beer from the ice box, it took him opening the bottle and a good solid drink before he finally looked to his less than amused wife._

 _"That vagabond saved my life," Gerald snapped back as he set his beer down. "I would think that would wipe that look off your face."_

 _Lene arched her eyebrow. Gerald was always melodramatic._

 _"And it warrants my charity, how exactly?" she challenged as she casually fixed her hair._

 _Unable to believe his wife's smug impression of her own grandeur, Gerald snorted, his mouth forming a grin as she finally turned around to look at him._

 _"Would you rather Kurtz and Thalberg standing here announcing my death instead? Because that was how close it came." He stated, earning a slight flinch from Lene. "Hoch killed a communist, a real justification for abortion and saved my life."_

 _Frowning, Lene decided that Gerald wasn't just being dramatic._

 _"Besides, I have been in his company for four hours now... I really like this kid. He isn't what he seems," Gerald found himself needing to explain himself more to his wife. "If all goes well tonight I could have myself a new recruit. I think you'll end up liking him... he's like a less handsome me."_

 _Sighing, Lene accepted her husband's reasoning. Even if it still sounded like he was dragging home a stray._

 _"The SS are in need of good men. If he ends up half as dedicated as you then it would be a success," she finally relented, earning a sweet smile from her husband. "Very well, I'll be okay with it. I was planning for a light dinner. Perhaps something a bit more fancy would arouse his interest."_

 _Lene smiled slightly as her husband came up behind her and pecked her cheek, his hand touching against her slightly bloated stomach._

 _"Good..." Gerald spoke brightly. "Why don't you give him some of my clothing and start washing his things… they're blood soaked. That communist was hard to kill. No brains to splatter I suppose, took longer to make a dent."_

 _Lene refused to flinch at his graphic talk. Instead she appeared almost amused by the talk. She had no desire to do as she was told. But she was a good wife, and good wives always relented to a few of her husband's requests._

 _"Very well..." was all she had to say as she left the kitchen and followed the path Joachim took._

 _It wasn't long before she found herself in her bedroom picking out a nice piece from the designer Hugo Boss's recent venture into civilian clothing. Sleek black pants, a white button down shirt. Anything was better compared to Joachim "Oliver Twist" Hoch's fashion sense._

 _Now with her arm filled with clothing for the boy, Lene wandered back to the bathroom and did not so much as knock. She simply opened the door and found Joachim standing there, his back turned to the door. She could help but frown at the sight he took in. It was a series of scars and burns trailing down his back._

 _Deciding she would not make a big deal out of clear physical abuse, she cleared her throat, causing the boy to jump around._

 _"Frau Langer!" The young man managed to get out, surprised by the older woman standing behind him, unfazed by his nudity. Frowning, she stepped forward and handed the armload of designer clothing to the young man._

 _"Just shut up and give me your clothing." She muttered as she snatched the bundle of ratty clothing from off the floor. "These are your clothing now. Those rags aren't even worth burning."_

 _Setting his new clothing aside, he stepped forward and grabbed the trousers. He dug into them retrieving a wallet and a gold cigarette box. Lene frowned and looked him in the eye. Perhaps the boy wasn't quite the trash she thought of him as. As he turned back, he found Lene lingering her eyes on him. Lene coughed and gathered her wits._

 _"If you don't take Gerald's offer, then you are a damn fool!" She hissed as she headed for the door. "He does not simply offer his mentorship to anyone. So when he makes an offer, you had best accept it."_

 _Lene paused and turned back._

 _"And thank you for saving him."_

 _She left before she could see the boy offer her a smile. If this was to happen, then Joachim Hoch would be in serious need of her teachings as much as Gerald's._

 **...**

It was just another quiet evening. Tonight, however Lene Langer had found herself playing host to Ernst Kaltenbrunner.

Though respected in his ranks as a man who got things done, Lene found herself thinking the man as a lewd brute. He didn't present much to offer an argument against her opinion on the man. His eyes drunkenly followed every move either her or Helena made, despite him being a married man. Gerald was quick to brush off assuring her that Kaltenbrunner had noble intentions.

Noble intentions… well when Lene had spent the past three hours ignoring the obvious leers, then she had a right to differing opinion on the man.

Breaking concentration on keeping a low profile, she heard footsteps rushed towards the patio from indoors. Out came Helena, her dark eyes wide and panicky as she stepped towards her mother.

"Mother, Heinrich is here!" She spoke as though she feared to see her own Fiancé. Frowning at Lene, Gerald stood up and found himself face to face with a frazzled Heinrich Fuhrmann, his hands and sleeves coated in blood. Lene gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried to hide her sudden fear.

"Heinrich, I thought you were supposed to be in Berlin?" Gerald queried. Kaltenbrunner glanced from his drink and took in the Wehrmacht soldier. He seemed to be disgusted by the presence of someone not party affiliated.

"Quarians dropped me off at the museum..." He mumbled, his hands shaking. "Five hundred kilometres in 10 minutes... Herr Hoch..."

Gerald gripped the boy on his shoulder. Lene was nearly faint, the way the boy had said Joachim's name…

"Fuhrmann, relax will you, what happened?"

Still shaking hard, His head twisting back in forth as though he was in denial, he looked down slightly to the shorter SS Standartenführer.

"Some woman showed up. She introduced herself as Joachim's brother's soon-to-be wife," Fuhrmann spoke as he tried to keep himself from unravelling. "They were talking and then... then something was said. She pulled a gun and shot him in the face."

Lene's heart stopped.

 _Joachim..._

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

To say Alaan'Jarva was furious with Halid'Zorah's latest report was an understatement to end all understatements.

Though Halid had glowing words for Albert Speer, Alaan could not feel anything but contempt for the man. He made a choice to use slave labour solely to please his master. Speer was a gutless yes man, but a smart one. He was intelligent enough to know that the regime he supported was going to crumble, so to cushion the blow; he started throwing as many of his party members in front of Zorah's rage as he could.

Alaan was starting to feel dirty with this mess. The army certainly wasn't clean despite the aristocrat's claims to the contrary. Speer told Halid about the Severity order, which was enacted to handle the fate of captured partisans after their attacks, and the Commissioner Order, summery execution of communist party officials embedded with the army to root out party dissent.

Alaan may have felt distaste for the communists, but execution of prisoners of Wars was uncomprehending. Halid said that there were such laws that were set up to protect captured men, but the Soviets, backwards in every sense of the word, stupidly deciding not to sign onto this Geneva Convention, Zorah detailed in his report.

Refusal to sign a document protecting basic sapient rights, creating a series of manmade famines set upon their own people, party, military and civilian purges. To think the Western democracies would side with monsters just as morally questionable as the National Socialists in charge of the German state.

Still this did not look good... this slave labour. It would mean that Zorah would have to work extra hard to root out the National Socialist elements. Alaan knew that every aspect of this current regime had to be cast behind them.

Of course that would raise a new question. What was he going to do with Joachim Hoch? How was he going to tell his daughter that if Joachim stayed loyal, he would be a target in the Wehrmacht insurrection as well. The last thing he wanted was his own child caught up in this mess. However she was and it was likely nothing would convince her to stray from him.

"Zorah, I need to know how many workers are being used," Alaan addressed the fellow admiral. "Your documents aren't saying much about numbers."

"I did not want to venture a guess while Speer takes a review of the war production." Zorah spoke plainly to him. "He believes somewhere in the neighbourhood of three to five million men and women in the occupied territories have been rounded up and sent to factories across Europe."

 _Three to five million_... Alaan was glad that he did not invite Vaerhit to the meeting. He would have lost his temper, screamed about how he was right. Sighing, he turned his attention to the newest admiral in the room, Halid'Zorah.

"I want you to get to the bottom of this Zorah. This forced labour issue feels wrong to me, like it's only the beginning," Alaan warned his co-conspirator. "I will not tell you how to do your job just yet. You have been making excellent progress. But now that you are dealing in assassinations, I have to tread carefully around Vaerhit. I would hate for him to know that he may have been the only one with enough sense not to underestimate the national socialists."

Zorah nodded, his mind was working as quickly as a mass relay jump.

"I am putting in a request for spy drones over these camps. Ones that are given to me solely," Zorah spoke with as much more repressed anger that he could express. "Speer is far too casual about what is happening. I think he's up to something... or worse, Heydrich is using him to stall for something..."

Alaan looked away, noticing the holographic projector beeping, Alaan simply nodded, agreeing to the request made by Zorah. He reached over and activated the device.

"Admiral Falan, how goes the progress in the desert."

Admiral Utala'Falan appeared on the holoprojector. She looked tired, worn out by sleep deprivation and a possible illness. Still she somehow managed to produce a look of determination for the sake of the gathered Admirals.

" _Exceptional_ ," Falan reported briskly, her voice more nasally than usual. _"Rommel is mapping out the next attacks on the two strongholds in Cairo and Alexandria. For now his attention is focused on the Island of Malta. Malta has been interrupting the supply shipments to his front. The oilfields of Libya are now working at seventy percent capacity. It is munitions convoys that are being the most harassed now."_

Alaan nodded his head. He allowed her a moment of silence as she suddenly sneezed into her arm.

"I am going to assume you aren't in good shape."

Falan's holographic image flickered slightly as she crossed her arms.

 _"That's right, I haven't been in a decontamination shower since late August, I have an infection,"_ Falan buzzed, her voice a low groan _. "I'm scheduling some leave for tonight. I'll need a decontamination chamber readied."_

Before Alaan who agree to this the doors opened and in stormed Galina, completely frazzled as she approached Alaan, Zorah and the holographic Falan without a word. Her hands reached and gripped his, her eyes wide, her stance weak.

"Galina?" He enquired, not quite sure what her issue was.

"Hanala is home, Joachim Hoch was nearly _assassinated_ ," She informed her husband. "He's in emergency surgery... he's going to be fine but Hanala is hysterical."

Without glancing back to the stunned Zorah, Alaan and Galina both rushed out of the Admiralty offices. For a moment, the horrors Alaan was learning about the National Socialists subsided.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Langer blanched at the news.

"He was shot in his cheek, right side," Fuhrmann elaborated for the Standartenführer. "Pistol was really old. It was just a mouse gun... A .22 calibre at best, looked worn down, probably lost most of its punch. I should have stayed out there… I should have asked for her papers and checked her if she was armed, I should have..."

Langer reached out and grabbed the boy's shoulder, ceasing his panicked ramblings.

"What about the assassin?" He demanded to know. "What happened to her?"

He hoped the bitch was still alive... shooting Hoch deserved nothing short of a long, agonizing death. Unfortunately that sort of death would not happen.

"What do you _think_ happened to her?!" Fuhrmann lost control of his temper and actually yelled at his future father-in-law. "Hanala stole my MP-40 and shredded her!"

The declaration that Jarva was vicious wasn't a new claim to Gerald. Up until that point all he had was rumours about what she did to a coup of English commandos in the desert and Joachim's high praise that he found someone more violent than he was.

"Is there anything else, boy?"

The words were Kaltenbrunner and the question was answered quickly.

"She was Jewish I checked her body and found her identification papers," Heinrich mumbled. "Saw the uniform he wore and panicked, heard his words and tried to protect herself. Joachim wasn't even armed; we were just at the park... I had to gather a handful of Herr Hoch's teeth..."

Fuhrmann rubbed his head. He was shaking as he tried to erase the thought from his head. He paid no mind to the look of horrified shock in the old colonel. Langer shook his head and turned up to Helena who stood there just as distraught as Fuhrmann was.

"Helena, take Heinrich and get him a drink or something." Gerald lightly ordered his daughter. Turning to Kaltenbrunner, who looked pale, he added. "Ernst, we need to talk."

Helena nodded, her hands looping around Heinrich's arm, dragging him back inside, followed quickly by Lene, who was now misty eyed, yet refused to cry in front of her husband and the SS General. Kaltenbrunner gulped back his drink and leaned back into his seat. He lit his cigarette, Kaltenbrunner stared off, he looked disturbed by the news, nearly as much as Langer was.

"The Heydrichian circle had best not find out about this," Kaltenbrunner finally spoke, his voice hard as steel. "They'll use any excuse to make a transfer over to Eichmann. Being hunted down by Jews isn't a good image for Hoch."

Rubbing his forehead, Langer sat back down. This was a mess, a complete and utter mess. How could this have happened to Joachim? He was a good kid. To be gunned down by some Jewish leech because he was in the wrong place in the wrong time. Hanala... that poor girl, she had to get vermin blood on her hands because of a mistake made by a dead man killed before Joachim was even born.

"No... We can keep this what it was… it was a family argument gone terribly wrong..." He dismissed, trying his utmost that things would fine, that Hoch would recover.

Kaltenbrunner snorted in disgust.

"A family argument involving a _Jew_ in his family?" he cackled, his voice taunting the absent junior officer. "They will have a field day, Langer, what the fuck were you thinking placing your trust in this Jew lover, Hoch."

"No... Did you not listen to the boy?" Langer furiously denied. "His older, dead brother whom he never met in his life was to marry a Jewess three or four years before he was even born. There is no other connection then that. The Hoch family is dead, Joachim is uninvolved with Jewry. I taught all Joachim needs to know about that race. End of discussion."

Clearly drunk, Kaltenbrunner simply glared at the older man.

"I don't care what you taught him. Hoch had better be questioned the moment he returns about his loyalty," Kaltenbrunner growled, fixing himself another drink. "I have put my neck on the line supporting him. If there is any stain at all on his name. Both you and Hoch better tell me before I continue to support him. I hate Eichmann, but I'm not going to stain my name just to spite that little bookworm shithead."

Sighing, Langer stared at the patio. He could not believe he was going to say this. He had to. Kaltenbrunner was not a man to argue with when his temper was blasting through the rood like this. He was capable of a great deal of unspeakable things. Things he was not about to risk his family over. He might have loved Joachim like a son… but this… this was not something he could stand by him for.

"Hoch's mother had an anti-party stance…" he found his voice, his voice slurring as he downed his next drink. "She was liberal socialist scum of the worse sort. She did not attend Communist rallies though. I looked into it for Hoch's background check. She was sympathetic to the communists however. When Joachim showed his admiration for the Führer, he was kicked out of her home. Hoch and his mother have no love for one another. Besides, she was killed in a raid over Kiel back in February."

Unable to believe the amount of shit he had to deal with, Kaltenbrunner rubbed his eyes.

"Better the whore is dead," Kaltenbrunner returned "His Father?"

Langer laughed nervously.

"A Communist, he died in the Ruhr occupation."

Kaltenbrunner looked close to having a stroke.

"Please tell me how exactly Hoch attained any position beyond a TOILET SCRUBBER?!" Kaltenbrunner groaned furiously at the latest revelation offered by the lower ranking Standartenführer.

Langer set his glass down and stood over the General, forgetting his rank, forgetting his connections, forgetting any logic and desire to play a good host to one of the most powerful men in the SS. He scowled at the giant who dared to question his student's loyalty, simply because his origins were shady.

"Because I took him in, Ernst; he's basically a son to me!" Gerald roared into the General's face. "I stick my neck out for no man who hasn't earned my trust. Joachim has _earned_ my trust. I swear on my family that Hoch's priorities are straight, to the Führer, to the Reich, to the Fatherland. You questioning his faith is insulting to everything I have done for the Party!"

Kaltenbrunner looked ready to speak. Langer however wasn't done.

"Do you think I wanted to march across fucking France again? I did it once before; No way I'd do it again. I have a family to think about," Langer admitted to the Police General. "You know what Joachim did? He was wounded from his actions in Poland. He had a free pass to stay out of the westward march. No... He ignored his recovery time and took my command while I faked an illness and requested a desk job. I... he didn't have..."

Langer trailed off; he did not know what to say. Instead he simply took a seat, his hands wiping his eyes as he tried not to think of Joachim. After everything that boy did for him... Gerald could never make it up to him. He should have been there to stop this assassin...

Kaltenbrunner stood up, gathering his coat as he finished his drink. He did not wait for Langer to join him. The giant did not need his escort. Instead he stepped forward, his hand unexpectedly pressing against this shoulder. Like Gerald had done for Fuhrmann.

"I won't mention your transgressions…" Kaltenbrunner assured the older man. "You are a good man and family is one of the most important resources of the Reich... and yes, you would be a bit old marching across France. Why you would get such an order is beyond me…"

Langer managed to laugh. Kaltenbrunner offered the Standartenführer a cool smile.

"Hoch seems okay at first glance and your defense of his character is admirable, but I cannot make a judgement call until I speak to him," he reasoned with Langer. "I will not condemn him until I know him. If you are right and this communist family didn't infect him, then he is a stronger man then most."

Deciding that was his cue to leave, Kaltenbrunner nodded his head and left without a further word, leaving Langer alone with his regrets.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 **Changes: Removed two filler scenes, Hoch was nearly insulting to Greta, Clean up.**


	9. September 22nd, 1942

**Chapter Nine: September 22nd, 1942**

 **...**

He could not possibly believe how much pain such a small pistol could cause.

Opening his eyes he found himself in a sterilized room, surrounded by several quarians watching him. It was Hanala, Galina, Alaan, Rael and his wife Veyare. Groaning he tried to pull himself up but was stopped by Hanala who glared at Joachim for even thinking of straining himself so that he appeared more dignified for a family he felt still somewhat uncomfortable with.

Smiling painfully at Hanala, whom had moved her hand to stroke his hair comfortingly, Joachim turned his attention to Hanala's mother, Galina who stared at him severely. Like a mother severely enraged by Joachim's state.

"Could you do us all a favour and stop getting _shot_ or _blown_ up?" Galina finally spoke on behalf of the family. "You don't need to hurt yourself in order to come up and see us, though personally I will admit that this somewhat amusing. Next time, could our next encounter be for your funeral?"

Hanala shot her mother the most dangerous of looks for her words, even if they came off as teasing. Smiling as well was Alaan who stepped past the two women, his eyes focused on his.

"Your cheekbone is going to hurt for a while, Joachim. More cybernetics for you, not quite as drastic though," Alaan explained to Joachim as he touched his own cheek. "It's more like cybernetic meshing. Works to hold the flesh together and promotes tissue growth. We'll need to perform oral surgery next to reset you lost teeth."

Nodding his head blankly, Joachim gritted what was left of his teeth following this whole shot in the mouth thing. Hanala was suddenly next to him. Her hands wrapped his which Joachim weakly squeezed back.

"What... what happened, Joachim?" she asked shakily. "Why did she try to kill you? You two were talking casually then she pulled a gun on you. You're irritating, yes but hardly enough to shoot you so randomly."

Joachim blinked rapidly, the drugs fogging up his brain. He tried to breath but it was only a short gasp. He turned to Hanala, his expression as solid as he could before her.

"Because... I'm …I am a stain on the Hoch family, apparently..." he spoke in the most neutral tone he could produce. "She was my Brother's fiancée. He owned the home we are staying in. I guess she dropped by..."

Joachim huffed as he thought about Greta. He ignored the creeping questions as to why a Jew thought it was her duty to shoot him. They had been relocated out of Germany for their own protection. This was no environment for their kind, so to see one come back, ready to murder… it was peculiar.

"Whatever… she was a communist of the worst sort,"" Hoch lied through what was left of his teeth. "I must have said the wrong thing. That's all it took to make her explode. She came to the home looking to squat, and decided to kill me. It's how _their_ sort behaves."

Hanala accepted the answer. That he did not doubt. It was Alaan'Jarva who was staring at him most curiously. Slowly the Father nodded as well, allowing Joachim to feel some relief that the Admiral did seem to buy what he was saying. He turned back to Hanala, whose head was bowed as her clutched his hand still.

"I killed her, Joachim," she admitted, surprising her parents and brother. "I'm not sorry for it."

If the admittance of guilt wasn't a surprise to them, then saying she felt no remorse was what broke their impression of Hanala still being a girl they needed to protect. Her brother seemed the most furious. Through Joachim's blurred senses, he thought the anger was being directed at him.

"She had it coming..." he mumbled lowly, there was no conviction in the words he spoke as he questioned himself.

He noticed as Hanala smiled at the answer. She drew the exact same conclusion; only for her it was far more genuine.

"I told Gerald and Lene. We're moving in with them until you're back on your feet. Lene was having a fit," Hanala mothered him, now running her hand over his face despite the numbing pain shooting through him. "She said that you were in deep trouble the moment you are feeling better. Something about time and time again she wanted you living with them, yet you kept staying in that home."

Galina nodded approvingly as she stepped forward. Clearly she needed to berate him some more.

"Hanala is right," the older quarian affirmed. "Lene Langer will be kicking your ass the moment you get better, and not without good reason. She loves you and here you go getting shot. You're stupid, did you know that? Completely _stupid_..."

It took Alaan dragging his wife back with his hand covering her mouth to prevent the woman from breaking Joachim's head. Nodding because he had no fight in him to argue Lene Langer's mothering, nor Galina's rage, Joachim turned away, his eyes closing as he struggled to go back to his drug induced sleep.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

Hanala was really starting to hate being in the medbay.

Then again, she did not that she ever enjoyed it, when she was younger, much younger than she was now, Hanala had spent what felt like months in a variety of ships medbay's for check-ups and several extensive cybernetic implants. Now she could see that it was required for her later in life, but back then it felt like she was being punished for reasons she could not comprehend.

Such things were to be expected, especially when your mother had accidentally gotten involved in the second offensive against the geth. There had been an engine eruption that nearly went critical in her mother's ship which had been assigned to search and rescue. Mother took a large burst of element zero exposure. She was sick for a while but in the end, the only thing that was affected was Hanala, still in the womb and was unnoticed until her mother was scanned for any health issues.

No, despite popular theories, she did not have biotics, she fell into the other category of prenatal element zero exposure, Instead of popular belief that element zero automatically mean powers equating to that of the asari. She instead ended up with tumours at birth, including one that was wrapped around her heart. Cancer was all but wiped out in quarian life, but it wasn't like people couldn't get cancer, so yes, once the tumour was removed it had turned out that the cancer had done significant damage to her heart, leading to all of her cybernetics.

As a result, Hanala was very sickly for many years; she was underweight for many, many years; she would not have been surprised if this was the reason she had ended up so short. All of this led to her mother and father babying her until she was in her early teens. It was much too late for self-image by that time. Many simply assumed that Hanala was spoiled rotten by parents better off than most. A first in a long line of things her people resented Hanala for.

Now here she was, back in one of the same hospitals that she spent so long in. Here, grandmother would protect her and smother her with a love Hanala rarely felt. She may have been granted everything to her by Mother and Father, but it seemed their love and respect went straight into Rael rather than her.

Well this time was different. There, laying on one of the beds she used as a child was Joachim Hoch now asleep and recovering from another surgery to replace the teeth lost in that bitch's attack. Greta... whoever she was. All she knew about this woman was what Joachim told her. A family member that could have been had it not been for Joachim's eldest brother's demise. It did not matter; she deserved to die the moment she pulled a gun on Joachim. Why Joachim did not react was beyond her. She was not family to him, just a woman whom he never met before. He wasn't incompetent; he could have quite easily disarmed her and beaten her into submission.

Well he was now paying for it; Stupid bosh'tet, offering the woman her life when she had the audacity to threaten to take his...

"I have a new assignment for you, Miss Jarva."

The voice belonging to Admiral Zorah stirred Hanala'Jarva from her silent reverence over Joachim. Hanala frowned slightly. There was something off about him as he took a seat. He was not staring at Hoch with any of the respect he had before. He even looked hungover. Hanala crossed her arms and placed her hand against Joachim's knee. Quietly, the Admiral approached the two of them.

"I talked it over with your father and Admiral Vaerhit," he said to the woman. "I think it may be time to introduce a human to what the galaxy will offer them once they're ready. I would sooner send someone of a far more prominent position and far more mentally stable… but he will have to do."

Hanala's focus on his body language vanished as she absorbed Admiral words. They wanted to send humans to the Citadel? This was supposed to be a state secret and they wanted to go and rubbed the alien's nose in their most recent discovery? It sounded interesting. Somewhat risky... fortunately, laying here was the perfect candidate for an introduction to their future.

"I have a ship dealer who is selling a second hand turian cruiser, fully armed and ready to be used. Your Father and I have arranged the sale to occur at the Citadel. I want you to take Joachim and pick it up from the seller," Zorah elaborated, choosing not to look at either of them. "He needs to understand that the National Socialists have no future when we are finally ready begin our attack on Rannoch. I imagine he would fit nicely in an environmental suit."

Accepting his advice, Hanala nodded vaguely and turned back to Joachim. No longer had a member of the military, Hanala had any reason to be formal to the man, despite her continued work with him, which to that point amounted to deceiving Joachim. All of this felt so wrong to her, this trip could be a chance to come clean, to tell him how much her Father and the rest of the admiralty was working against him with great fervour. Hanala was not in this conspiracy, whatever it was. She was just a soldier without a rank, following the orders of her father first and now Zorah, who was now taking a seat across from where she sat at Joachim's side.

"What happens if Joachim says that he stands with his government?" she suddenly questioned, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Zorah narrowed his eyes at her defiance. He wasn't impressed that Hanala was questioning him or his logic. To Hanala, she needed to know, she needed to know what the admiral would do if this man that she cared for would stand against him.

"Might I remind you that Joachim is absolutely loyal to the regime?" Hanala pressed on, her tone biting as she stood from her seat on his bed. "He doesn't have any other feeling then pride for what he has done for them. They may be bastards to you, but they are his people. So again I ask, what will happen if he says no?"

Admiral Zorah stood up as well, his hands straightening out his Heer uniform as he returned Hanala's glare with one of his own.

"You won't like the answer if he says no. You had better be ready to charm him the best you possibly can," Zorah suggested to the Admiral's daughter. "He may be a good man to you and to us, he may even be an innocent pawn to all of this, but I cannot have him alerting any of this to his friends. Not even to his confidant, Langer."

Zorah paused; his eyes glanced over the defiant Hanala. He looked almost... disappointed by her.

"You have chosen to become intimately involved with him," he finished his voice as neutral as he could possibly be. "You are responsible for his fate."

He sounded like there was something to be ashamed of, that her feelings for Joachim were disgusting, she was meant for another quarian. Here he praised him for having an open mind to things when in actuality, he was no better than most, if not all males she knew, Insecure over a woman that did not belong to him.

With Hanala still staring hard at him, Zorah finally stepped back and turned to leave, but not before pausing and turning back to the defensive quarian with her eyes burning into his.

"I suggest you get around handling him," Zorah spoke up, his voice neutral as usual, "I can tell you the time is coming up quickly for a change that he may not like. He has to be told soon, for both of your sakes."

Offering her a nod, Zorah left leaving Hanala standing there alone, watching over her human once more. She knew Zorah was right. Joachim would need to know... and it would not be going over well. Choosing between his ideology and a woman who has twice now manipulated him into thinking he was in a position of power or that a conspiracy was occurring under his nose... Joachim was going to be pissed. Joachim Hoch pissed off scared her more than anything else.

Staring at his sleeping form, Hanala could only hope that he would understand.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

He could not believe he was standing here in a Wehrmacht bar in his SS uniform. He really should have gone plain clothed.

To say he wasn't welcomed here was understating it. He could feel their collective eyes turning to follow his every soldier and officer he passed by, each of them judging him, as though they knew the kind of men he ultimately answered to. It was not their fault for feeling so ambivalent towards him. The SS as a whole was nothing more than a front for Jewish killing, for ethnic cleansing.

Using a few of his own brother's contacts inside the Gestapo, he found a man they had been watching very closely since he was discharged from a military hospital. He had been seen speaking with fellow Heer officers suspected of harbouring hatred for the Führer, perhaps with the intent of killing the Führer.

If this had been only months ago, he would have been shocked, disgusted that these men hated the Fuhrer so much that they would take his life. Now these men were all that stood between the madness of his Brother's plans and the destruction of Germany should the war be lost. Not to mention the millions murdered in the insanity.

Squinting, Heinz noticed the man he was looking for. Sitting over there in the corner sat the man one armed, one eyed man, surrounded by several of his comrades, a drink on touched in his remaining hand. He was staring off lost. As though he was trying his utmost to keep his mind off the injuries and the pain he was probably still suffering trough.

Oberst Claus von Stauffenberg. For a Count belonging to a minor aristocratic family, Heinz thought he would be more impressed.

Gathering his nerves, his hands tightened around the folders he held tight in his arm. Exhaling, Heinz stepped forward, moving through a group of junior officers bellowing out " _Deutschlandlied_."He quickly found himself nearing the Oberst sitting by himself. Heinz could not believe he was doing this, he was about to sit down and spill secrets with a man who had absolutely no reason to trust him.

Without giving the Oberst a warning, Heinz took a seat next to him, his finger rising to order himself a drink. The barman eyed him suspiciously but obliged the Obersturmführer nonetheless. The wounded colonel turned his head briefly, his peripheral vision glancing at the newspaper editor.

"I see the SS have decided to pay me a visit. What do you want?" he spoke plainly, his attention focused on the bar instead of the man sitting next to him.

Heydrich exhaled slightly as the annoyance became quickly evident. The soldier, horribly disfigured wasn't man with a lot of patience for his kind.

"My name is Heinz Heydrich, Herr Oberst," Heydrich spoke with as much respect as he could muster. He had spent so many years assuming the Heer to be weak willed and made obsolete by the stronger Waffen-SS.

As always, his surname caught the Oberst's attention right away. His head turned as he took in the younger brother of Reinhard Heydrich, the first National Socialist prince of Germany. Stauffenberg's one eye narrowed, as did whatever remained behind that eye patch of his. Stauffenberg remained dead still, as though making sure that the man was not here on official capacity, even if his SS rank was honorary at best.

"Respecting my rank despite you belonging to the Hitlerian police... and Heydrich's brother as well," Stauffenberg spoke finally, at long last sipping his drink. "Tell me how is he doing? Has he finished torturing every Slovakian he can find?"

Heinz knew better than to answer the charge. He would not be surprised in the slightest if that was what Reinhard was doing.

"I heard things, about you being... _involved_ in things…" Heinz spoke, somehow delicately and with great vagueness as he could for the suddenly angered Heer officer. "Things you should not be involved with. You think the SS is blind to the things no one wants to speak about? "

Looking faintly amused, Von Stauffenberg turned away.

"The SS continues their paranoia," Von Stauffenberg mocked. "The Heer backs the Führer, no matter how much you _starve_ them, _force_ them to operate without _ammunition_ or _fuel_. All the while the bulk of what little material we have is issued to your lot simply because you'll die for _him_ without wondering why."

Von Stauffenberg sipped his drink, the sarcasm his expression was bitter. Heinz sighed and reached into his folder, removing several pages and placing them in front of the Oberst.

Heydrich licked his cracking lips.

"Even when he condones this?" he spoke up.

Staring briefly at Heinz, Von Stauffenberg turned away and gathered the several pages of documents Heinz had handed off to him. Heinz watched Von Stauffenberg's expression remained neutral. It did not take long before Von Stauffenberg's eye widened; he leaned in as though he needed to double check the monstrous plans on the paper detailed.

Heinz ordered himself another drink.

"My brother's files were given to me by mistake when he was hidden away for treatment..." he spoke again to the disgusted Oberst. "I spent a few days drunker than that bastard Churchill, but I was still a reporter. I know how to use a copier. Reinhard always underestimated me. I confronted him, he didn't back down... figured I wouldn't do this... tell someone like you."

Claus von Stauffenberg looked up to the youngest Heydrich. His eye moved back and forth as though looking for any trick. Biting his lip he leaned closer to the SS officer.

"If I were to take this to a couple of my friends..." he breathed lowly.

"I wouldn't stop you," Heinz assured the Oberst, his stressed mind relaxing as it seemed that Stauffenberg was letting his guard down... "The SS won't touch me. But that may not be for long... My brother… is not the same man he once was… something is off about him."

Heinz swallowed his drink down, his hands shaking as he searched for his cigarettes. He shuddered as he breathed, his second hand running through his hair nervously.

"I've been doing what I can to help these people; I faked… faked citizen passports, new identities, whatever I can do," he admitted to the younger colonel as he lit his cigarette and took in a drag. "The thing is I still have a family to think about... I need to keep them safe, but I also need to do something, anything to save them. Save as many as I can. I... I can't let my brother stain my name any more than he already has."

Exhaling a plume of smoke, he looked up to the Oberst who allowed his hand to drop the documents he was holding. He was looking at him peculiarly.

"I'll speak a few friends. I'll see if I can do something about helping you protect your family," Tte aristocrat finally spoke. "I think we could use a friend in your organization, right?"

Von Stauffenberg offered up his hand. Heydrich glanced at it briefly before gripping. He did not realize what he had set into motion.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It took quite a bit of effort to get Joachim to join her on this relatively dull mission. To Joachim this was out of his comprehension, travelling thousands of light years away through massive endlessly spinning portals.

In all likelihood, Joachim was scared; Yes, scared at the opportunity he was being extended, He would take it, undoubtedly. He would stand on the Citadel if only for the personal gain, but that did not mean he wouldn't be the tiniest bit scared, no matter how much he denied all thoughts about such a thing

A woman stood there tall, a decade older than Hanala perhaps, her hand waving for the two to join them. She looked unnerved by Joachim's presence and appeared to have been doing her best not to pay the human much of her attention, despite him being the first human she had ever met.

"Hanala'Jarva, welcome to the _Hayera_ ," the woman greeted the two of them. "I am Calem'Xen, first lieutenant of this vessel..."

 _Xen_... Joachim and Hanala shared a dark look.

"Any relations to Martus..." Hanala questioned as she trailed off, this woman appeared much too cheery for a woman with any connection to that bastard.

The woman simply nodded.

"My husband," She spoke with great obvious pride. "He owes you his life, even if he's too proud to admit it."

Joachim snickered as Hanala rubbed his neck, clearly uncomfortable about the praise she was receiving.

"I didn't exactly give him any reason to be grateful," Hanala finally found her voice. "I probably put him into more danger than he should have been."

"That's an understatement."

Approaching the three of them was Martus'Xen, now officially holding a Captaincy of his own. The only look he could produce for Hanala and Joachim was a look of smug self-satisfaction as he stood next to his wife. The three survivors of the Devoas remained completely silent as they each recalled the amount of hell they had endured the last time they were gathered and placed on a mission.

Well... this mission would be significantly easier than the last one. At least they would not have to run through hoards of the shambling dead Romans.

"You made Captain," Joachim brought the silence as he stepped closer to Hanala.

Instead of addressing the Obersturmbannführer, Martus turned and stared directly into Hanala's eyes.

"Yes I did, _former_ Captain," Martus spoke, taking great pride in pointing out her lack of rank. He turned to Joachim and added. "I see you have brought the human along. You're certainly looking uglier... I think I owe that person a debt of gratitude."

Joachim looked ready to do something about the quarian, but Hanala intervened, she turned to Martus' wife and smiled sweetly.

"Miss Xen, why don't you ask why your husband has that scar?" she spoke brightly as she gestured to the mark left by Joachim's savage pistol whipping. "I think it may be time for you to train him to be more polite."

Martus could only scowl. He turned to his wife and silently ushered her off to her duties before turning back to the couple he hated beyond all other things.

"Come, I'll take you to your room," he growled begrudgingly. "I'm sure the two of you will love it."

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"It's... lovely."

Hanala snorted in complete disgust as Joachim tried to make light of the situation.

"It's a varren pit, an honest to ancestor's _shithole_ ," Hanala spoke, visibly disgusted with the set up. "Martus is clearly punishing us. Throwing his new rank around..."

Still not sure what a varren was, Joachim had to agree with her sentiment regardless. The room looked like a boiler room for custodians. Like one of the rooms he would sleep in before he met Langer. Just a low cost pay by the day rent. Wincing as he tried to forget those days, he turned to Hanala and gestured her to enter first, which she did albeit reluctantly. She glanced around and dropped her bag onto the hard looking bed.

Groaning, Hanala leaned against the bed and unfastened her bag, her thin brow forming a frown for Joachim's amusement. She glanced up and turned to Joachim before turned back from him to look into the bag, Joachim's usually disciplined eyes found themselves staring at her perfectly shaped bottom... _good god_... Good genetics went into making this creature, this creature that belonged to him.

"I suppose if we are to see a Prothean wonder like the Citadel, we must take the bad as well," she casually mused, her voice sounding nearly like a song to him.

Watching Hanala's nice bottom strained by the bodysuit, Joachim snapped his head back and stared widely at the word Prothean being thrown around by the woman so freely.

" _Prothean_?" he repeated, unable to believe what he was "Are you certain it's not as... twisted as that ship in the desert?"

Hanala shook her head.

"Fourteen million people live there mostly normal if you do not count their arrogance," Hanala spoke once again as she turned back. "It's perfectly safe, I promise..."

She paused, noticing Joachim staring at her with less than pure intention on his mind. Slowly, her mouth formed into a coy smile as she crossed her arms, her breasts pushed up completely on purpose. She turned into a tease every time she noticed his attention. Was she kidding him? This was too much to handle right now. Lay up in a hospital bed for days, before that spent laid up recovering from his new augmentation and here she was teasing him...

"Were you just checking me out?" she just had to ask, her voice thick with coy knowing as her hands reached over, gesturing for him to come closer.

Smirking slightly, Joachim obliged the woman, pushing his jacket from off of his shoulders and stepped towards her. Hanala's hands reached out, gripping the waist of his trousers, dragging him closer and closer until he was finally on her lap. With one hand gripping him, the other slowly unfastened and unzipped her bodysuit. Hanala pushed herself closer until her barely covered chest.

"What are you doing?" He moaned carefully, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into her cleavage without as much as a warning. Hanala giggled playfully tried to shake the man off of her to no avail.

"Showing you some cleavage," Hanala spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I have a way that might make this place feel like home... making this dump smell like our bedroom."

Joachim blinked. Like the scent of the two of them making love? Having sex as they sped passed the gas giant, Jupiter? Joachim wasn't one to turn down new things, but sex in space did have to make him pause and briefly consider yet another first he was doing in the name of his race.

Before he realized it, Hanala had shifted herself on top of him and he suddenly found himself inside her without so much as having a choice in the matter. Not that he would have said ever said no to her. He instead watched as her eyes widened as she slowly rocked up against him. He listened to her groan as she was still apparently getting use to this. Then again Hanala was considerably smaller than he was used to.

"Since when was my room, _our_ room?" He mumbled into her ear.

Hanala should only hiss at him.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"Are you certain this is the right course? We are trying to bring your people into the future, not drag them back into the past."

"Germans have, since the dawn of our nation has been a people that require a hierarchy to reign in the chaos. Democracy has been a failed concept in our nation. We are open to it in limited use, but as a master over our nation? I think not."

Halid'Zorah raised his brow at the remark made by Fedor von Bock, who was pulling off his officer visor cap; next to him was Gerd von Rundstedt, whom appeared much less enthused by the situation he was now in.

Von Rundstedt, as Zorah had learned, was not man who respected his royalty anymore. The heartbreaking loss to the Entente in the first war left a stain on this Crown Prince's Father, Wilhelm II. Though he held no love, he held his tongue on his opinion, especially in the Crown Prince's private residents here in the Hohenzollern estate in Potsdam. Fedor von Bock was right. The army alone could not convince the people that the threat of Nazism was a thing of the past. They would continue to distrust democracy.

What they needed now was a royal, assuring them that they had won their freedoms.

"The civilians not only answer to the Fuhrer in fear, but because he was the only man offering a return of the power we so briefly held. The return of a Crown Prince to a position of power would make our people see that the brown shirts are only using them to further fuel their wars," Fedor spoke as they moved through the main hall. "The Crown Prince… he can offer peace, even if it is limited to the west. It will mean the end of the bombing attacks. He will be hailed as a saviour of Germany by his ascension."

"While the Generals press the war on in the east of course..." Zorah murmured loud enough for the militarists to overhear him.

The cynicism was not lost upon Von Rundstedt, who smirked at his words.

"Only until the Communist surrender or are destroyed," Gerd reassured Zorah like a grandfather. "Neither nation, nor our own people will stand against the destruction of the Soviet menace."

The talking and plotting died down as the doors to the Prince's lounge opened and out stepped a man in a well-tailored suit. He was as old as Gerd von Rundstedt, but walked with a slight limp. He stopping in front of the three of them and bowed his head respectfully to the officers.

"Crown Prince Wilhelm III of House of Hohenzollern will see you gentlemen now," the butler spoke to three men respectfully. "His son is here as well, Heir Apparent Louis Ferdinand and his spouse, Grand Duchess Kira Kirillovna. You shall only address the Crown Prince upon meeting him as _'Your Imperial and Royal Majesty',_ following which _'Your Majesty'_ is permitted _,_ and should he permit it, _'Sir'_ may be used in place. He may hold no power but he and his Heir should be held with the highest respect."

With the old man's etiquette lesson now over, he lead the three of them to the door and opened it up, allowing the three of them to enter the room. Rundstedt glanced back to Zorah and nodded. He did not follow Bock or Rundstedt and instead, planted himself by the door.

The door closed as the elderly servant left the room, leaving Zorah to peek around the Prussians shoulders and found himself looking at three individuals, all of them dressed quite a bit more casually than he had expected the moment he heard that they were of royal decent. The three of them, one an older man was drinking and eating and chatting lightly with a younger man and a woman. The three of them laughed before finally, the eldest man looked up finally and turned his full attention to the two men standing in front of Zorah, His lips quirked as he offered Von Rundstedt and Von Bock a slight smile.

"Receiving visitors from the Heer? The old Prussian guard to be specific..." the Crown Prince of the German State, Wilhelm III spoke finally. "This is unexpected to say the least, through quite welcomed."

Von Bock and (much less enthusiastic) Von Rundstedt respectfully bowed their heads to the pretender of the throne they once loyally served all those decades ago. The usually stern looking Bock's face broke into a smile as he stepped passed Gerd von Rundstedt who stared on disapprovingly, as though he was sucking on something sour.

"Your Imperial and Royal Majesty, I can speak on behalf of my colleagues when we say that we are humbled as well you would have us as your guests," Von Bock returned warmly. He offered a second bow to the Duchess and the heir to the throne as well.

Wilhelm III held up his hand.

"I hold no power over you. I never have, so the title is unnecessary," The Crown Prince spoke to von Bock, a slight smile for him. He turned and noticed Gerd, his arms to the side as though he was still in a state of attention. "Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt," Wilhelm continued. "I am surprised you have come to see me. I know bitterness when I see it."

Gerd von Rundstedt inclined his head gravely. He would not deny his doubts about the royals of Germany.

"These are different times, sir. Our differences must be cast aside," Von Rundstedt spoke as he forced himself to step closer to Wilhelm. "Germany is locked onto a suicide course and we must all do our part to prevent it... even the crown."

Wilhelm laughed lifelessly, his eyes falling to his son and daughter-in-law. They both appeared to be in complete agreement with the words spoken by the elder soldier. Exhaling he turned back and took his seat back onto the couch. Bock and Rundstedt both stepped forward and remained dead silent.

"Germany has been on a suicide course the moment Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, Herr Generalfeldmarschall," the Crown Prince spoke finally as he turned back to Rundstedt. "Germany is a nation much too head strong for its own good. To elect maniacs to the highest power of government, to support said maniacs... simply because he promises rearmament… tell me, how is that working out anyways?"

Zorah, who had remained silent to that point watched as Von Rundstedt appeared close to losing his cool. That last bit was a barb against him. For believing in the National Socialism way was the only course for Germany until Zorah showed up on his doorstep.

"A mistake I seek to rectify before it is too late..." Gerd quickly countered the powerless prince respectfully. "And trust me, _sir_. It will be too late for Germany soon."

Wilhelm, it appeared, was not a man who didn't like to be lead around in circles by men like Rundstedt.

"Speak plainly, Generalfeldmarschall's. What is it do you seek from a powerless old man?"

Gerd and Fedor glanced at each other.

"To cut the National Socialists throat once and for all, sir," Fedor von Bock spoke on behalf of the older Generalfeldmarschall, as he held much more favour to the Crown Prince then Von Rundstedt. "It will be terrible, it will be bloody, but it must be done, and the best way to do so is to have you by our side, assuring the people that our national nightmare is drawing to a conclusion. To help pick up the pieces as we transition back to our old ways."

Wilhelm rubbed his chin as though he needed to think about. It wasn't long before the Prince leaned into his seat, his expression cool and extremely disillusioned by the earnest words spooking by the monarchist Prussian Marshall.

"So ultimately you seek to use me like you used my father? You want me as the army's puppet… as yet another tool to reign in your people?" Wilhelm questioned as he stood up and approached the two commanders. "Well I refuse to fall into the same category my father did. Not without a clear explanation on your part, something those bastards, Hindenberg and Ludendorff refused to supply him with."

Zorah exhaled. This was his cue.

"If I may be bold, Your Imperial and Royal highness, you and your family are being extended an offer." Zorah spoke as he briefly bowed. "As a partner to a new friendship for Germany."

Gerd von Rundstedt and Fedor von Bock both glanced back. Crown Prince Wilhelm likewise did the same. He looked briefly to his son before stepped up towards the quarian, who remained still. No more than a few feet from one another, the Crown Prince stooped and looked upon the quarian impressively. Zorah pulled off his gloves and allowed Wilhelm to watch in horrified shock as three fingers removed his dark shade, revealing glowing bright eyes.

The Prince tilted his head.

"What are you?" he demanded to know, to his credit, Wilhelm remained composed in the face of this. It was Fedor von Bock who answered. He stepped back, his hand gently guiding the Crown Prince away.

"Your Highness, Might I introduce you to Admiral Halid'Zorah... Of a people known as the quarians…" Von Bock introduced as he guided the royal to his seat. "They wish to save Germany from the monsters in charge."

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Jesus Christ, Joachim Hoch hated this godforsaken quarian environmental suit.

It just wasn't built with a man of his size in mind. Quarians were just so much leaner it appeared, It made the suit he had to wear feel completely restrictive. Of course he may have put it on wrong. Hanala was still passed out in their sex soaked bed. Joachim decided to give his black and red environmental suit a try, which he was seriously regretting.

Then he heard Martus over the PA system, announcing that the ship was minutes away from this Citadel, whatever the hell that was. Well, he would soon find out. The ship was slowing down. The observation window showed him the tunnel in space that was created by this mass relay they were jumping through.

All of this was simply insane. Once again Hanala had not consulted him; she had simply dragged him along for the rid-

The tunnel ended, the vessel slowed down, Joachim had no words to describe what in Christ's name he saw. A massive shimmering jewel caught up in a purple haze was all he could describe what he saw.

"Welcome to the Citadel..." a voice called from behind him.

Joachim turned back and found Hanala, back in a dark toned environmental suit. Her long arms wrapped around his waist as they both watched the slowly approaching Citadel. Hanala seemed much more interested in the affections of the human. Hoch, on the other hand, remained fascinated by the spiralling nebula arm surrounding the majestic looking space station which looked almost like a flower in bloom from this distance.

If his first time seeing Earth made his problems minimize to a whisper, then standing on a ship thousands of light years away from his home... this was completely unfeasible to him. He watched as thousands... millions of small vessels moved in an orderly line much like transit on a busy autobahn.

As amazed as he was by the presence of hundreds of thousands of civilian looking vehicles, it was the lone, majestic looking ship. Hundreds of times larger than the ship they were in. It was much more sleek the quarian vessel, made out of materials that looked beyond simple steel. Though by comparison to the station, it was tiny. It still loomed in front of the Citadel like a protector.

"That is the _Destiny Ascension_ ," Hanala spoke from behind him. "Asari Dreadnought loaned to the Citadel fleet. The largest ship fielded by the council powers. It's mostly for show. The asari haven't used it since the krogan rebellion."

Nodding blankly at the claim due to his inability to comprehend the ship being used in actual combat, nor the krogan rebellion, Joachim turned back and found himself face to face with the quarian holding onto him. She smiled slightly, as though the sight of him in the environmental suit was hilarious for her.

Her hand reached up and tentatively touched his still healing face. Joachim winced slightly as her eyes focused on the damaged caused only a few days ago.

Leaning forward Hanala pressed her soft thin lips against his, kissing him with great care so that she did not further hurt him. Opening her eyes, she pulled back, her hand as sliding down around him as she expertly fastened the environmental suit better than he had tried on his own.

"Hopefully you will only need to wear this once," Hanala mumbled as she fastened his neck piece properly. "These suits are humiliating to say the least. They use to symbolize our spread across the galaxy... now they will be for survival if we stay in the fleet any longer."

"All the more reason to make sure Earth is secure," He spoke up as he tried to ignore the shooting pain the tight suit was causing.

Hanala smiled prettily as she finished fixing all of the straps and pulled the faceplate from out of the built in spinal pocket of the environmental suit.

"Okay, time for your mask," she spoke as she raised the piece of reinforced glass and metal over the mask. "I picked you up a darker tinted one for hiding your lack of luminescent eyes not to mention you'll be stylish."

The faceplate hissed and clicked into place, darkening his vision somewhat.

"Thanks _Lene.._." Joachim teased her playfully, his voice sounding strange... Almost like Hanala's voice back before she could leave her suit.

Hanala smirked slightly and stepped back, her eyes wandering over him as though she was inspecting him in a much less professional nature. He shuffled slightly as her hands reached and gripped his sides, Hanala allowed them to wander, exploring his covered abdomen.

This was unheard of, being felt up like an object. This was his job, not hers. Then again, Hanala wasn't exactly a woman as he knew one; aggressive, into sex, apparently not afraid to feel him up in the open.

"You look... _attractive_ for a guy wearing an environmental suit, So much... broader," Hanala purred as she leaned in closer against Joachim, forcing him to wrap his arm around her "I can see why you were so turned on by my suit when we first met."

Joachim did hit best not to smirk opening. Yes, he might checked out some of her assets before he was granted access

" _ **Freighter Hayera, this is Citadel Control. Landing has been cleared for docking bay 12. You are only here on a temporary pass. You have four hours."**_

A laugh came from behind them. Hanala and Joachim turned around to find Martus standing, staring at the suited human as though it was the stupidest thing he had ever seen.

"And here I thought I looked ridiculous in your Afrika Korps uniform..." he jested, shaking his head in pity to the much larger human.

Behind his mask, Joachim could only smirk. Hanala on the other hand was much quicker than he could.

"Instead of making fun of Joachim, I would worry more about what we did in the air ventilation room," Hanala mused, looking up to Joachim as though they were the ones in the conversation. "That smell is going to be everywhere in an hour. I would also be worried for you wife, one whiff and she might leave you for a primitive."

The two of them walked off, laughing as they left Martus'Xen more enraged than ever.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

"Come along Herr Rommel, easy does it…"

He should have been more careful. He had overextended himself. No, not the army he held his command over. They were all fine for the time being. No, instead he was so caught up with planning the liberation of Cairo and Alexandria as well as his attack on Malta that he paid no mind that he was dangerously ill with something his medical staff in Africa was not sure what it was.

His adjutant found him vomiting and bleary this morning and had informed all of his subordinate generals in a matter of minutes. Before He realized it, he was on a plane heading back to Germany. Whatever it was, it would not be in the best interest to keep him in command of the most successful campaign in war at the moment.

The thing was without him there, the entire operation could come unravelled. Montgomery's confidence could return without Rommel standing out in the sand hitting back every attack the relentless and remorseless English general could throw at him as he grew more and more desperate. If he were to make any headway in Africa he would certainly have to recover. He would not be able to recover if his command was placed into incapable hands.

At this point there was only one man that Rommel had any faith in keeping his war against the English fresh and victorious.

That man was Heinz Guderian, the Founding Father of the Blitzkrieg.

"My recovery can wait, Unteroffizier, just give me something to ease the pain and wake me up," Rommel mumbled, coughing as he rubbed his eyes. He turned to his trailing Adjutant and added. "I need you to get in contact with Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt and Guderian and have them head to Rastenberg. We need to head to Wolf's Lair, it's urgent that we speak to the Führer before I lay down."

Ill or not, Rommel's assistant knew that the Desert Fox was not a man to be disobeyed, especially when his whole campaign could crumble without him there.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

The pounding of electronic music was anew thing Joachim as the two of them pushed through the crowded club known as Dark Star. Like the sound resonating through his helmet was vile. Hanala could not help but grin. He was a man raised on musicians named Mozart, Beethoven and Chopin, which was a taste Joachim kept extremely private. The Pole was banned from German ears apparently.

Well asari electronica was a huge escape from the music Joachim worshiped, more along the lines of her taste. As much as wanted to pull Joachim aside and dance, even if she seriously doubted he had any rhythm of any kind, other than how he worked his hips against her. That he was certainly wonderful at doing. Keelah, she could not believe her luck that she could still walk.

She turned back and found that Joachim had stopped walking. She followed his stare and groaned as she reached over and smacked him in the shoulder. Joachim had found the wonderful world of asari sexuality as he watched two asari's kissing each other with a sudden great, curious interest. It was another thing he hadn't probably seen before, two women in a very liberal sense of the word making out. Keelah, what a dork, and yes, this and completely expected of him.

"Did you not say the homosexuality was wrong?" Hanla snarled at him, not bothering to look in his direction.

Joachim could only scowl at woman for bringing that hot topic. Hanala could only smirk behind her mask. Joachim was such a hypocrite. A woman he was quite alright was being gay, but a man was a whole different story.

It took all that she could to force him to turn away from the couple; Hanala dragged Joachim through the crowd and towards the back of the club where the VIP's sat. A VIP section that had only one table occupied, Standing in front of the table were several guards, a batarian and two turians. Dressed up like goons with pistols hidden away. They stared hard at the two of them approaching the table they were hired to protect."

The batarian stepped forward. His four eyes caused Joachim to freeze and tilt his head in surprise. Still he managed to remain calm under the scrutiny of the slaver piece of shit. Hanala stepped forward, forcing the aliens to focus onto her rather than the stunned disguised human.

"What the _fuck_ do you want, _suitrats_?" The batarians wanted to know. Hanala crossed her arms, she would not back down to this four eyed freak.

"Do me favour and go _fuck_ yourself, I'm here to meet your boss about a ship, you ugly piece of slaver shit..." Hanala growled lowly as she stared defiantly at the batarian. It was the only way one could deal with this bastards.

The alien glowered, unable to believe the anger erupting from the quarian woman. Checking his omni-tool, he turned back to his turian subordinates and barked at them to open the doors. The batarian turned back to the quarian and the human and gestured them to enter, which the two of them did. The batarian followed behind them.

The room was much quieter than the club, gathered in it was easily a dozen guards, strippers dancing and there in the middle of the room sat single asari, staring off at her drink as her assistant spoke quietly in an untranslatable asari tongue. She looked bored and apathetic to everything around her. It was clear to Hanala and Joachim that she was the undisputed master of this room, which they would have to play to her terms while they stood in the same room as she did.

Pushing past them was the batarian that approached his boss. He glanced briefly at what he assumed was two quarians.

"Miss T'Loak," the batarian remarked. "The quarians are here."

The asari named T'Loak glanced up to the two of them, her bored expression forming into a frown as she took in the two newcomers standing in the room. She did not bother to stand up; she simply waved her hands to leave him. She leaned into her seat, her eyebrow raised as she crossed one leg over her other. She turned her eyes to Hanala, than to Joachim. Hanala frowned; it was as though she could see right through his suit.

"I am Aria T'Loak, underboss of Omega Station," The asari introduced her as she sipped her glass of wine. "My employer doesn't like quarians too much, so he decided we were better off meeting here in this shithole."

She gestured to the immaculate VIP section and snorted as though the sterilized room was the last place in the galaxy she wanted to be stuck in. Sighing, Aria T'Loak set down her glass and gestured for the two of them to join her in the seats in front of her. Hanala and Joachim shared a look and followed the asari's direction. They sat down, both of them under the scrutinizing eyes of the underboss of Omega.

Hanala bowed her head only slightly.

"Captain Hanala'Jarva," she introduced herself. "This is my adviser."

Joachim nodded; he could not very well communicate with an asari who didn't have the same translator service as he did. Silently, Aria returned the nod and poured the two of them drinks from a bottle of old quarian brandy. With two generous glasses filled she slid them over and leaned back, watching as the two of them stared at the hard drink without so much as touching it.

Aria glared, refusal to accept a gift like this was a grave offence.

"Don't be coy with me quarian…" she spoke in a dangerously low tone. "Your immune system is weak, but not that weak. Take off the helmets and have a drink with me."

Hanala nodded and turned back to look at Aria's bored companions. Silently she told Aria that she did not want to reveal herself to anyone but the asari herself.

Staring at Hanala for a good long moment, Aria merely nodded her head to her entourage. They left almost in single file, leaving the asari underboss with Joachim and Hanala. Aria cracked the two the slightest of smirks, the first expression she held for them other than casual indifference.

Hanala glanced to Joachim and quietly disconnected the faceplate of the helmet, dropping it on the table in front of the asari. Hanala took the glass of spirits and gulped it down as she too relaxed into her seat. Aria peered over Hanala's face.

"Pretty young thing..." she murmured, her fingers grazing against Hanala's cheek.

Aria turned to Joachim. The smirk widening as she noticed the clearly enraged body language burning from the man.

"And you?" the asari added. "I think you may be quite more interesting. Quarians are not built that... broad."

Joachim remained silent, his posture unchanging. Hanala privately fumed. She seemed to notice the little differences Joachim could not hide.

"It wasn't a _request,_ " Aria spoke plainly as she set her glass down. "Take off your helmet or I bring my friends in to play."

Joachim and Hanala glanced at each other; both of them were simply not interested in fighting here on the Citadel. Like Hanala before him Joachim took off his faceplate as well. The moment Aria saw soft light skin clashing with a horrible facial scar, steel blue eyes and a frown, the asari underboss actually widened her eyes in surprise.

Her blue hand reached forward without waiting for permission from Hanala or Joachim, it touched against Joachim's unblemished cheek, taking in the smooth flesh that Hanala had come to love touching herself. Aria tilted her head slightly; her teeth showing as she looked him over.

"Male asari..." she drifted off; her interest lost as she lowered her hand and turned to Hanala, who stared at the asari as hard as she could.

"My, my, the quarians certainly have been naughty, haven't they?" Aria mocked, her shark like grin baring her teeth at them as she fixed herself a drink. "Bringing a new species to Citadel space without proper procedures in place? I would not worry; whatever you are planning with these things is of no concern to me until the quarians make it my problem."

Sliding the second glass of alcohol off the table, Aria activated her omni-tool and uploaded the ships registry to Hanala, who in turn made the payment 1.2 million credits, a relatively good deal in Hanala's opinion. Certainly was better than she had expected. Perhaps Aria was looking to offload the ship quickly.

"The ship was built forty galactic years ago. Turians never placed it into combat," Aria explained as she read the transaction statement. "It was later bought by the batarian Hegemony and subsequently liberated by pirates from Omega en route to their new owners. After ten years and a few design additions so it did not look like the _Nalista_ it's now in your possession."

Aria waved her hand off to the two of them, silently ordering their departure. Hanala and Joachim were only too happy to oblige her request. They stood up, this time however they were joined with Aria, who stood as well.

"You'll find the ship in docking bay seven, here is the pass. The ship has a VI for flight and other basic skills, if you wish to change the name, by all means," Aria spoke as she uploaded the codes to Hanala's omni-tool. "I could not bring the ship into port armed. I left the weaponry out on the Perseus Veil with a tracking device encoded on the VI... in the graveyard."

Hanala blanched and ignored Joachim's stares. She quickly fitted the faceplate back on and turned to help Joachim, whose eyes were turned to the asari who continued to smirk at his clueless expression.

"I should have known she would not have told you. It's the graveyard of the Heavy Fleet," Aria explained to Joachim. She turned back to Hanala and added. "In fact it might just be a fun history lesson for your friend. About how incompetent your people have become. How your lot have decided to trick aliens into being your new pawns."

Knowing that there was no way she could get away with stabbing the asari bitch in the throat; Hanala swallowed her shaking rage and turned to leave. The two of them reached the door when suddenly Aria spoke.

"Captain Jarva?"

Hanala turned back and faced the asari who was now sitting down once again, her legs crossed as she stared up at the two beings before her.

"If my hypothesis is correct, then I suggest you tread _carefully_ around the aliens you're tinkering with," Aria spoke delicately, her eyes narrowed at them with a frightening intensity. "This isn't like your robotic _slave_ race. If you make one mistake with your latest pets, if you make one momentary judgement error, they'll bite you hard and then go for your throats. All I need to do is point you to the salarians and my people."

Aria turned away. She had nothing left to say to them.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 **Changes: Clean up, removal of some narmy garbage.**


	10. September 23rd, 1942

**Chapter Ten: September 23rd, 1942**

 **...**

So this was the Wolfsschanze. To say that he was impressed by the Führer command centre was an understatement.

Halid'Zorah had heard of this place many times during his conversations with a variety of German General Staff members. This was one of many places Hitler conducted his war, travelling with Gerd von Rundstedt through the winding path of the fort, through a virtual army. Soldiers, tanks, fixed weapons positions, a landmine field that boasted to be upwards to fifty-four thousand, the headquarters looked as though they were gearing up for an attack despite it being hundreds of miles from the front.

Then again, this paranoid protection was to be expected. No more than a few metres from where Von Rundstedt and he stood was the Führer himself and a good portion of the National Socialist Party... the members of his inner circle.

As they waited they watched as Albert Speer entered the fort. He pretended not to notice his co-conspirators as he went to the Führer's sides, his hands burdened with a pile of rolled up diagrams and papers of the latest figures of his war industry; It wasn't long after that Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering passed them by next, waddling into the centre with a look of annoyance as he took notice to the staring Gerd von Rundstedt. Finally in stepped Joseph Goebbels and his wife, both of them too busy to notice their surroundings as they spoke in rapid fire German, too quick for his ear and translator.

Only a few minutes went by and suddenly Von Rundstedt scowled catching Zorah off guard, then again, that wasn't a surprise. Von Rundstedt scowled at everyone and everything. In had entered Erwin Rommel and Admiral Falan. Rommel was a ghost of his lively personality.

"Herr Generalfeldmarschall. I see that you made it..." Gerd von Rundstedt finally spoke to the younger Generalfeldmarschall leaning against the quarian woman. "I see that you have even bought along my adviser's colleague."

Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel nodded blankly and accepted a handful of human medications from Utala'Falan. Stimulates and pain suppressors, tricking his mind into thinking that he was better than he was in actuality.

"Guderian was brought along as you requested, but getting him as your temporary replacement shall be a whole other matter in itself," Von Rundstedt informed the swaying Rommel as he dry swallowed his medication. "The Führer has blacklisted him for service. They had one too many arguments about how this war was being conducted."

Rommel nodded, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus.

"I know that, that's why I'm here," Rommel managed to mumble.

Their short conversation died as the door opened and in stepped Erich von Manstein. He paused briefly and offered his two fellow Generalfeldmarschall a salute, which they returned. His eyes flickered to the quarians. He was in the conspiracy now, but he certainly was still very reserved about it. He would have to be made aware that the man he so faithfully fought for was allowing the madmen of his following play with the lives of millions of people who would die if they had their way.

Turning from the Prussian and Zorah, Erich glanced over to the pallid Erin Rommel, whom had stood up straighter as though he was at attention for Manstein.

"Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, I hope you'll recover soon for this war's sake," Von Manstein softly encouraged the younger Commander. "It's been some time since combat fought by Germans didn't have it _stinking_ with politics. Your exploits have made me envious."

Nodding his head in respect, and then offering the youngest field marshal in German history his hand, Von Manstein took off, leaving the gathering in silence. Rommel, however, looked almost peaked at the words of praise offered by what appeared to be an idol to the Desert Fox. He turned to Utala'Falan. A pained smile offered to her.

 _"If I was half as talented as Manstein, I would have reached the Suez by now,"_ he murmured to the Utala. Utala smiled slightly, as though his words had been humorous to hear.

"Idolizing another Generalfeldmarschall and considering him more talented than you?" Utala returned; her voice warm with good humour. "This is a first; perhaps that ego of yours isn't as large as I first thought it had been."

Gerd von Rundstedt's head was turned, his face blank as he turned away from the hallway. Halid glanced around the corner and saw a man with a receding hairline walk their way, his eyes reading a report, but he walked at a swift pace towards the waiting Generals and their quarian adjutants.

" _Bormann_..." Rundstedt hissed lowly to the group. "I would suggest that you two leave now. Bormann, the Führer's eyes and ears approach. Head back to the car and do not approach any base personnel, Understood?"

The two quarians nodded and gathered their things. The last thing either of them needed was to be spotted by men that high up in this criminal organization.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

The crowds were significantly thinner in the docking bay than in the wards. Thank the ancestors that were the case. Though Joachim was new to all of this, he was starting to annoy her very, very much. Hanala tried her best to remain patient, but for the first time since they met, Joachim had turned into a child as he took in the sights and variety the Citadel. She just wasn't a patient tour guide; even to someone she had come to care for quite a lot.

 _Like_... Okay, perhaps it was turning out to be something significantly more than _like_...

Perhaps out it was love.

All of this still felt strange to her. Sure, the sex was wonderful and Joachim was charming and kind enough when you did not broach topics that involved his past, his political views and stances on things he did not understand. He was... sweet on occasions, knowing all the right things to say, when to say them. He was turning out to be more than just an interest she felt when she was in SS custody. Of course it would mean nothing if Joachim found out that every quarian he had been introduced to was in one way another plotting against everything he stood for. A decade of dedication to an ideology that her Father found vile the moment he and that bastard, Zorah started digging deeper into.

All of this lying wasn't what she wanted to do. She had made a private promise that she would not deceive Joachim again, and here she was being ordered by men she no longer answered to, demanding that she break her promise and keep him in the dark, all out of fear that their actions would be discovered. To think that she viewed herself as manipulative when in actuality, her Father and the rest of the damn Admiralty board were manipulating an entire nation... no, an entire world to set up to place the migrating quarians in the best possible position.

Still all of this did not justify what she was doing to Joachim. He was a good man, who needed a good woman. It was becoming obvious the moment that she was pulled out of Joachim's first encounter with her family by Zorah. She thought that keeping him distracted with ventures under the guise of culture undertakings would keep him from knowing how far back the plan had been enacted.

It made her sick to her stomach knowing that the day was coming that Joachim was going to finally learn that everything he was doing for her, teaching about his culture, about human culture as a whole was just a front to keep the one man in the SS who could unravel everything for her Father busy. In a way, her mother was right. Father had sold her out as a plaything for Joachim so that the SS would be blind.

It did not matter for the time being. There was plenty of time between now and when Joachim would find out. She needed to figure how to soften the blow. Perhaps in the middle of sex, just call it out right when he was coming, with any luck he would be too sleepy and in much too good a mood to care.

 _"What the hell is that?"_

Joachim's childlike wonder broke her thoughts, He seemed to be staring at the hunched over beast standing behind the dock bay terminal. Though sort of annoyed, Hanala smiled as she found herself wondering what his face would have looked like under that mask. Perhaps he had that boyish smile that broke the visage of steel he had moulded into his expression.

"That's an elcor. They come from a high gravity world," Hanala explained as she looped her arm into his. "They do their utmost to think before they act; so much as a simple fall could kill them on their home world, so everything they do will be at a slower pace than others... Oh, would you _please_ stop staring?" she suddenly hissed, "Just because you're new doesn't mean you must be rude."

Joachim could only chuckle as Hanala nearly blew a blood vessel in her brain. The two of them stopped in front of the beast. Hanala nodded her head as respectfully as she could.

"With restrained respect: How may I help you?" the elcor inspector greeted less than enthused to meet the approaching quarian and disguised human.

Hanala frowned and let go of Joachim, her omni-tool flashing to life.

"We have a transfer request to the quarian fleet for the vessel, _Nalista_ ," Hanala spoke politely in return. "I am ready to take possession of it now."

"With suspicious consideration: The _Nalista_ is the largest ship in the docking bay," the elcor spoke again. "Inquiring: Please forward the proof of ownership or I shall alert the authorities."

Ignoring her private rage at the creature that looked no more evolved than a varren did, Hanala tapped her omni-tool furiously. The elcor's screen flashed as she did, the ship was legitimately under the quarian control now. Accepting the results, the elcor looked up to Hanala, his face, whatever it displayed, looked confused.

"Genuine curiosity: There has been a large influx in quarians purchasing element zero and ships," The dock bay representative spoke again. "With mild concern: I hope that your people are not planning another offensive. I would have thought what remained of your race would have learned better by now."

Hanala did her utmost not to scowl at the remark innocently offered by the hulking beast. Instead, she accepted the approved transfer request and lead Joachim through the gate and into the docking bay. Her hands gripped Joachim's as she dragged him along like a cross between an angered wife, or an exacerbated mother.

"My Father and the rest of the Admiral Board have enacted the _Gau'let_ : The recall of all quarians back to the fleet," Hanala suddenly found herself explaining to Joachim. "They are to drop their lives in Council and Terminus space, sell their possessions and return home, bringing with them as much supplies and military equipment as they can possibly bring. Any quarian that refuses to join will be branded an exile and not be permitted back to the fleet."

Joachim absorbed her knowledge as though it wasn't new to him.

"So a call from the Fatherland, marshal law and a mobilization for war... I've seen it before - back between 1938 to 1939," he admitted dryly as they reached the main floor of the dock. "But with such a small population, you would seriously abandon those who remain?"

Hanala nodded gravely.

"In this case, yes" she returned. "We're settling on a populated world and tinkering with your race. We cannot allow anyone following quarians entering our fleet once we get settled into your system, nor shall we be allowing escape. They will be making their own choice in betraying their species by sticking with those who have sold us out. Most will come home to us at any rate."

There standing before them was the _Nalista_. It was... strange to say the least. It no longer appeared like the standard Cruiser. The exterior of the ship had patchwork welding on it, its paint a clash between red and black. It was clear that Aria wasn't kidding about how much they had tried to hide the stolen cruiser from the hegemony. Once they headed back to the Sol system, they would have to strip all this shit of the ship.

"It's... ugly as hell…" was Hoch's dry assessment of the cruiser sitting in dock, It was good to see that he could see it as well.

"Of course it is," Hanala agreed with Joachim, unable to hide her smile. "Sure, the pirates made this ship disgusting to look at, but turians have limited imagination as well, we do not have the luxury of being picky in the aesthetic details, the turians are excellent ship builders. If we wanted something pretty and flimsy, we would go for an asari vessel."

Joachim nodded, his arms crossed as he fell into his own thoughts.

"We could always steal that _Destiny Ascension_ ," Joachim mused, a hint of humour in his electronically altered voice. "I'm sure they won't need it. I think a Swastika would look nice painted on the side of that Dreadnought, don't you?"

Hanala giggled slightly, her hand reaching up to clutch the taller human's arm as they continued their walk. Her grip tightened however as a pack of turian soldiers marched by in perfect formation. Hanala glanced to Joachim whose body language looked almost amused by them.

"So...those are turians I take it?" He spoke to her. "Ugly bastards... even uglier than those batarians."

"Well, Hoch. Did this help put what we're offering your lot into context?"

Before Hanala could reply, the two of them turned back and found Martus'Xen approaching the two of them, a full team of quarians behind them, all of them armed despite the rules clearly stating against doing so. Martus'Xen apparently was one to abide to the rule that if they did not belong to this galactic union, they sure as fuck weren't going to adhere to their rule, a feeling that Hanala could certainly respect.

"I can spare twenty of my crew," he addressed Hanala, his expression less than pleased with himself. He gestured to the tall quarian man, and added. "This is Lieutenant Balag'Reegar. He's going to lead the crew, since you are at very best an honorary leader in this purchase."

Reegar nodded his head as his silent greeting to the Admiral's daughter and the human disguised. Hanala nodded back, but Joachim didn't, he stood there, his arms crossed as though he was expecting Martus to order his men to attack him for the grudge he held.

"I trust you will not crash the ship, get most of them killed, then trick the survivors into an unauthorized operation which includes participation in a war," Martus spoke, his voice drawling as he stared at the two of them. He paused and added, "Though on the bright side, I got to watch you both get tortured and you lose your arm by _her_ incompetence."

With that said Martus slapped the taller Reegar's shoulder and left Reegar and the crew members under the command of Hanala. The group remained awkwardly silent until finally the lead quarian named Reegar spoke up.

"Keelah... he _really_ doesn't like either of you..." Reegar spoke, surprise drenched into his voice. "Usually he's actually a pretty decent guy... at least until you are brought up..."

Hanala laughed slightly and glanced up to Joachim who was staring ahead at Reegar suspiciously.

"We haven't exactly offered him any reason to like us," Hanala commented idly Glancing up to Joachim again and frowning she added. "Prepare the ship and set coordinates to the Perseus veil, the graveyard of the Heavy Fleet."

The destination caused the whole skeleton crew to cringe. They however obliged and headed to occupy the ship, leaving Joachim with Hanala standing just outside of the ship.

Hanala could not help but smirk privately. Was... Oh Keelah, he was being jealous over a few words spoken to that Reegar man. How ancestor damned silly of him to feel that way. Of course, she wasn't going to admit he felt the exact same way a few times. She even felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Lene Langer and her daughter who was apparently groomed to marry him.

"The ledger has given us permission to rename the ship..." Hanala spoke finally, turning around to face Joachim and hopefully break his silent glowering. "I was thinking _Bismarck_... Do you agree?"

Joachim snapped his attention back to the quarian woman he was courting, his helmet was tilted.

" _Bismarck_?" He repeated faintly as he glanced up to the ship.

Hanala nodded, smiling at his obvious surprise.

"There is a tradition amongst us to provide a gift to those we become friends with," Hanala spoke softly to Joachim. "This is a gift to Germany once everything is in order, once the war has ended. I think _Bismarck_ will have a nice ring to it. Especially as a training ship for the future navy you will possess one day."

Joachim nodded his head staring blankly at the vessel that would one day belong to the German Navy.

"Not to complain, but the _Bismarck_ was a battleship, the pride of the Kreigsmarine..." the man spoke, as though he was doing his best not to offend her. "Calling a cruiser _Bismarck_ is... well, sacrilege to be frank."

Hanala arched her brow at the remark.

"Was the _Bismarck_ seven hundred feet long and armed with weapons that fired it's armaments at the speed of fifteen percent of light speed?" she questioned him curiously.

Joachim rubbed his neck, his head glancing down at the floor.

"Well... No…" he spoke somewhat sheepishly.

Amused by his sheepish ignorance, Hanala bumped her mask into the side of Joachim's helmet. It was the closest thing she could offer to him as a kiss until they were off the Citadel.

"I didn't think so..." she chirped, her hands gripping his as she led him into the ship.

...

...

"The rifle is a ground breaking combination of rifle rounds fired at rates as fast as a submachine gun. All test and field performances have been exemplary. I could have the bulk of the Heer and the SS equipped with this rifle. It will seriously outclass anything the British and the Americans can field against us. We have to start production of the specialized 7.92x33mm Kurz rounds. Still, to say no would be madness... if I might be so bold."

"Something you certainly have been for the past few weeks, Speer; Changing to the labour policy with little consent for me. I'm surprised by you. I would think that you have been taking training in defiance from Von Rundstedt and Guderian."

The room bursts into a round of nervous chuckles as the Führer lightly teased the two unexpected guests in the Wolfsschanze. Gerd kept his cool at the remark; perhaps it was his guilt of betrayal that kept him from acting angered. Guderian remained as silent as the grave. He had no desire to stand in this room.

"I had to take charge after Sauckel's death," Speer spoke quietly. "The forced labour program is bad for our image. Even in a war we have to look like the morally up right side. Having millions of foreign slaves... It looks bad on us."

The Führer shook his head.

"This war demands nothing but steel in our resolve," The Führer countered his closest confidant. "I will allow you to experiment with women in the factories on a temporary basis. Do not get comfortable with it. I expect limited results. I am not a foolish man to overlook the potential of this new rifle, but it is preferable that the mass production of this rifle must occur before we start production of ammunition for it. We must issue them when there are significant numbers of them to make a strategic difference. Would you not agree, Speer?"

Speer nodded, choosing tactfully not to push the subject. The last thing they wanted to listen to was a long winded rant Hitler was close to starting.

"If I may interject..."

The entire room turned around from their gathering around the conference table. There stood Erwin Rommel, his face gaunt, his expression filled with an agony that even made Rundstedt wince. The Führer looked up, his face expressionless as Rommel shuffled into the room until he stood in front of the father of the Third Reich. With a shaking hand, he offered salute to the Führer.

"My Führer, while I would agree with your appraisal, I would be remised to not recommend listening to Minister Speer about expediting the process," Rommel murmured as he gestured to the design specifications of the Mkb-42... "I had... several men in the desert with the rifles being deployed... They... they were impressed. These weapons could make the o...offensive in the east run smoother. The men in Stalingrad need something beyond bolt action rifles and submachine guns."

The Führer turned away briefly taking time to consider the Desert Fox's words., allowing Speer a moment to silently thank the Generalfeldmarschall for his open support. The Führer turned back, a slight smile on his face as he clasped his favourite military commander's hand. Gerd could see Hitler's eyes twitch, as though he was frightened of becoming ill like the man who had essentially conquered three nations by himself and a few well trained subordinates.

"Rommel... Rommel, my friend, I was told you were brought home to recover," the Führer praised the swaying Generalfeldmarschall. "I will admit for a while, I had thought you were a defeatist for retreating in the winter -like many men I have seen in this past year. You have accomplished much more than I thought you would have. You have solidified our hold in the desert. Our enemies have few places they can effectively hit us now."

Rommel nodded his head gravely; he did not seem to share the optimism the Führer held.

"Thank you, My Führer," Rommel pressed on. "However I came here to give a report on the situation in my front. We have reached a point where this conflict could go either way. We must treat our successes with cautious thought."

The Führer looked upon the North African front commandant with a sense of doubt.

"The English are surrounded or fleeing across the Suez Canal. You have accomplished more than the Italians dared to dream," the Führer praised the solemn looking ill Generalfeldmarschall. "Yet you continue to worry over fears that are not proven. Rommel, my friend, you must go back to your family and recover. We cannot do with you of all people ill."

Rommel shook his head and hobbled away, his arm reaching up to wipe the glossy look in his eyes brought on by the drugs he was on to forget the sheer amount of pain he appeared to be in. He stopped in front of the silent Guderian and turned back.

"I cannot recover if the front I leave doesn't have a suitable commander leading where I left off," Rommel continued, his hand gripping the silent older man's shoulder. "There is only one man that I trust in my place and Generaloberst Guderian is it."

For the first time, Guderian and Hitler locked eyes as Rommel's request resonated in the room. There had once been a time when things were friendly between the two of them. Not anymore. Guderian had opening protested the activities in the east, saying it would harden Russian resistance, that his pipe dream engineering wishes were a drain on the war economy. Well it did and it was, and as a result the Führer sacked him from field command for his honesty.

"Guderian blacklisted himself," The Führer dismissed turning away without so much as looking to see the reaction of Guderian. "I can appreciate your dedication to our final victory in the near east, but Guderian cannot apart of it. It was made clear to me that he has no will for the conflict we find ourselves in. While the youth of Germany dies, he prefers to look on the conflict with defeatism… bordering dangerously close upon cowardice."

Beleaguered, Rommel turned his attention unsteadily to Guderian, who remained silently defiant in the presence of the Führer. He could not believe that grown men would descend into such petty squabbles when a war was occurring. Sighing he took a deep breath and turned back to the Führer. But before he could press on, another man spoke.

"Respectfully, my Führer, Herr Generalfeldmarschall," Generaloberst Walter Model called to both the Führer and Rommel. "I volunteer to be sent on temporary duty to North Africa. My calling is in the east, but we must all do our part."

Rommel winced slightly as the monocle wearing, stern faced enigma made his presence felt. Walter Model was a commander whose achievements rivalled that of Rommel, but he lacked the same fame. He had held together most of the line around Moscow for months. His work mostly underappreciated by most commanders. His greatest admirer was the Führer himself. Out of all the commanders involved in the Barbarossa operational failure, Model was the only man to achieve everything he set out to do and more.

Model, unlike Rommel, wasn't fuelled by his personal narcissism, or a desire for glory. He lacked the respect for an enemy as well... He would have sooner seen to General Alexander treated like a common prisoner had he been the commander in charge of his capturing, his hair trigger eruptions in to bouts of rage against his own staff legendary.

Just as legendary was his disdain for the Waffen-SS. He had allowed his own army to essentially use the SS as diversionary targets for the Soviets. He had depleted Das Reich into a shadow of his former strength. Men of the SS spoke of him with nothing but contempt. Von Rundstedt had witnessed it before in that Obersturmbannführer, Hoch. Model was a brutal man who commanded the loyalty of his men well. Whatever misery the men suffered, Model would endure it with them as a point of pride.

Although Gerd was aware of the anger issues of the foul mouthed Heer officer, Rommel seemed unaware of it.

"The offer you have made is generous, but no thank you, Herr Model," Rommel wheezed, inadvertently causing the Monocle in Walter Mode's eye to nearly fall out. "I mean no disrespect, but I have yet to see you mount a successful offensive in your own front. You are quite possibly the greatest defensive strategist I have ever met, but the lines have been set up from Alexandria to Tripoli. Having you there would be... redundant."

The room went silent, even the Führer looked up from his maps to watch his Firefighter of the Eastern Front shake, his face turning purple with unimaginable rage. Rommel turned away and hobbled to find a seat to relax.

" _Redundant_?" Model hissed, his scowl becoming more and more apparent. "Why you miserable, half half-hearted _amateur_... Your activities in the desert have been nothing more than an amusing sideshow at best, and a squandering of resources at worse… a waste of lives and resources to conquer the North African mongrels and protect Italians who lost their fighting prowess a thousand years ago."

Model turned away and directed his eyes to the Führer.

"My Führer, Rommel was, and always will be a defeatist," Model spoke, biting back his anger. "The very moment an obstacle blocks him, he runs off to sulk like a child, begging to put his betters in charge while he recollects his confidence. Why you would continue to support his melodramatic search for attention is a curiosity. Guderian at least is a solid leader, who doesn't allow his emotions to get in the way of his duties."

Gerd von Rundstedt could not help but find no fault in Model's words, no matter how obtuse he expressed himself. Model had Rommel correctly pegged an overemotional leader with a desire to insure his legacy. His fame seemingly sustaining him, rather than, military duty, he was quite simply put an attention whore.

Sick or not, it was painfully evident Rommel was not about to take Model's remarks sitting down.

"At least I can look on my career and feel nothing but pride. Can any of you say the same?" Rommel challenged as though he was back in school. He turned to Model and added. "One mention of my name to the English and they have nothing but praise and respect. One mention of your name to the Russians and the only thought they have is you, swinging from a meat hook for your actions in the east."

The Führer appeared weary of the argument and held up his hand, earning Model and Rommel's obedience.

The arguing amongst the officer class brought great amusement to the party officials gathered in the room, Bormann and Goebbels. The only ones who were not smiling was Hermann Goering, who was reading over the latest figures of Operation Herkules, his frown turning up to scowl at just how much resources Rommel was demanding for the attack on, Malta. The second was Speer, who in Gerd's opinion looked close to cracking and admitting to his friend, Hitler that he was on the verge of selling him out for the sake of Germany, yet still he remained remarkably silent.

"There is no need for this argument, Rommel," the Führer chastised the ailing, young Generalfeldmarschall. "Model has made a generous offer. Guderian is not the right fit in the Heer anymore."

It was not answer that Rommel was willing to accept. His illness appeared to have given Rommel a spine to stand up to the Führer.

"With all due respect, Generaloberst Guderian is in trouble because of personal arguments between the two of you over matters that have no business to interfere with this war!" Rommel spoke with as much restraint as he could possessed. "My Führer, this war must be waged with the full strength of our military. Having personal feuds intercede our efforts will be disastrous!"

Rommel's fight died down, leaving the Führer staring blankly at the somewhat shorter Afrika Korps Commander. He seemed to debate what Rommel was saying, even if it had done something few men had done before. Call out the Führer so openly for being a petulant child. Something men like Rundstedt wanted to do, but could not thanks to their instilled respect for the leadership.

"Von Rundstedt?" The Führer suddenly spoke up, requesting an opinion.

The room turned to Von Rundstedt, who had been standing there watching to the interactions of the room until he found himself being scrutinized. Glancing to the now silent Rommel, he nodded, stepping forward.

"My Führer... I do not like how much we are operating in the desert, but Rommel is not without logic. It will be a necessary investment once America is mobilized and land in Vichy Algeria. Destroying the English in the east must not be done half-hearted," he explained concisely. "Rommel is sick, sick men make mistakes. Rommel needs a replacement that will strike fear in their hearts once they realize that Rommel will be out of the picture for a while. That man is Heinz Guderian; he is one of a handful of men that the Anglo's will truly fear..."

Turning to Guderian, Gerd offered the General a salute, one which was immediately returned.

The Führer stood there, soured by the praise offered to the man whom he had lost his faith in. Sighing, he turned to Guderian, who stiffened up as though he was on parade.

"Guderian... consider yourself placed back onto active duty," the Austrian spoke begrudgingly. "Generalfeldmarschall Rommel will brief you about the situation. It will be both of your heads if this does not work out. Rommel... I would like to hear more on this Herkules operation."

Rommel nodded; Rundstedt could not feel anything but pity. He was in no condition to press his case for Malta. Well... Rundstedt would do what he promised Zorah. He would continue to stand up for the man in the desert.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Standing in front of the Von Stauffenberg's family estate home, Heinz Heydrich stood there in silent deliberation.

Last night he had been invited by Von Stauffenberg to a small gathering of likeminded individuals who had lost their faith in the Führer. He could not say no to such an offer. For the first time in many months, Heinz felt that his new stance was not some mental defect he had, wanting to betray his brother, wanting to have the Führer cast from his seat of power. His thoughts made him sick to the stomach, it made him lose much of his sleep. It even caused him to start fighting with his wife more and more. She didn't deserve that... and it was only bound to get worse.

Gathering the last of his nerves, he knocked on the door. It did not take long before the door opened up and out steeped a gorgeous brunette, her eyes wide and staring at him with great fear.

"Hello?" she managed to greet him. Heinz exhaled and offered her a slight smile.

"Frau Von Stauffenberg," Heydrich spoke with as much charm as he could produce; he took her hand and shook it very carefully. "It's an honour to meet you. I was invited here by your husband."

The woman stood there, her expression was blank as she absorbed the presence of the SS uniform standing in front of her. Clearly she did not trust him standing in her doorway. If she had her way, she would have cast him far away from her home. Slowly, the woman nodded her head, accepting his statement.

"Yes he is... he said he was expecting you…" she spoke softly, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing for him to follow him. "Come in, I'll take you along."

Nodding his head, Heinz followed the Count's wife; he found himself stepping through an elegantly decorated home that he had never seen before. The excesses of the aristocratic upbringing that Claus and his wife came from had survived the recession and three years of war. It was impressive to say the least. He paused as he offered his smile to several children galloping around the home not unlike his own children.

Before he knew it, he was through the front of the mansion and found himself outside the closed doors of a dining room. The woman knocked on the door and cracked it open slightly. On the other end of the door were several men arguing, than growing silent as soon as the woman peeked her head inside of the room.

"I... Claus, your guest has arrived," she spoke nervously now.

A chair scrapped back and a single pair of boots approached her. The door opened and out swung her husband, his one hand clutching hers as he offered his wife a kind smile.

"Thank you Nina," He spoke, gently dismissing his wife before looking up to Heinz and adding, "Come in Obersturmführer. We've all been waiting for her."

Nodding respectfully to the wife, Heinz turned back to face the room of officers gathered for what he assumed was a dinner party as a cover. All of them stared at Heydrich with a mixture of surprise, disgust and strained curiosity. Heinz could not blame them. He felt like a pariah the moment he opened Reinhard's personal files. Well now he could do something beyond helping the random individual Jew he could.

A hand with only three digits fell onto his shoulder. It was Stauffenberg, offering the Heinz a slight smile as he led the SS officer to the seat at the table.

"For those of you who were not informed about our SS contact, may I introduce you to Heinz Heydrich," Claus von Stauffenberg introduced as Heydrich found a seat between two Wehrmacht officers. "I believe you are all aware of his elder brother, Reinhard. Heinz, do you know everyone?"

Heinz shook his head, so Von Stauffenberg gestured to them one by one.

"This is Ludwig Beck, Generalmajor Henning von Tresckow, Generalfeldmarschall Erwin von Witzleben and Admira-"

"Wilhelm Canaris," the Admiral spoke softly, choosing to instead to introduce himself. "God help me, I made your brother into the man he is today as you well know. For that you have my sincerest apologies."

Though the silence was present throughout the roll call made by the host, Canaris' words made the situation at hand that much tenser. Frowning slightly at the guilt professed by the chief of the Abwehr, Heinz nodded in acknowledgment to the old wryly Admiral who he got to know well through his brother. Von Stauffenberg took a seat and looked on up to Heinz as he sat down much more reluctantly. Though introductions had been made, he still felt uncomfortable standing here.

Henning Tresckow cleared his throat first.

"These are a few names in a vast collection of officers and civilians who seek three things: The arrest or assassination of Adolf Hitler, a military government and an end to this war," Tresckow spoke up to the SS man. "The reason I was able to gather these men, all of whom risk everything, are the documents Stauffenberg has produced for us given to him by you, documents on this Wansee Conference, this ' _Final Solution to the Jewish Question'_."

Heinz nodded, his eyes turned to Canaris, whom was staring right back at him as though Heinz was a twin to Reinhard. For the chief of an intelligence service, he certainly seemed to be off his mark today. Not that Heydrich could blame him. Seeing how Reinhard had turned out put Heinz in a near identical state of self-revulsion.

"I am by no means a champion for these _people_." Beck spoke to the group as he drank his spirits. "The moment the Nazis came to power and announced their intentions, they should have simply packed up and headed to anywhere but Germany. No doubt many of them fought for the Kaiser – died as well – but ultimately this is a Christian nation, and there is no room here for their anomaly."

Beck paused briefly, as though he did not know whether or not he agreed with his own musings. Regardless, he shook his head.

"Saying that, however, does not mean I wanted their whole people _exterminated_ across Europe, if that is indeed what is happening. Mark my words, if we were to lose this war, the Heer will be blamed for this for the next one thousand years," he warned the youngest Heydrich brother. "We will all be hung by the victors who will make no differentiation between those who did it and those who did not know. Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin – all of whom puppets to the international Jewish globalist agenda - hate Germans on principal. We as a nation will be exterminated in turn the moment we sign surrender papers."

The words spelled defeatist doom and gloom that Heydrich had never felt before in his life. His professional career was built around raising morale, hearing this talk from professional Heer Generals was shocking to say the least.

"You did not know?" Witzelben spoke to the thinking SS man, a small absurd grin on his face. "The Jews in America will in all likelihood seek Germany to return to a state not known since the tenth century, back nothing but pastures and peasants; a vanquished people who will be but a distant memory in the annuals of history. Such an opinion would not be faulted considering the vileness of your bastard brother."

"He needs to be _stopped_ ," Heinz found himself speaking, his words surprising the group who had expected more sibling loyalty.

"He needs to be _stopped_ ," Heydrich elaborated on, much more confident now that they appeared impressed... "If the Führer were to know what he was doing, what Himmler was doing… surely he would have stopped it."

Treskcow leaned back into his seat and sipped his drink.

"The Führer is no better than your brother and the chicken farmer, Himmler," the General informed the SS-Obersturmführer. "His removal from power must remain at the highest of priorities. His death means the end to the oath sworn to him. We will be free. A prison sentence will do nothing but delay it."

Heydrich remained silent as the plotting pressed on.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Admiral Alaan'Jarva found himself doing the exact same thing that Halid'Zorah was doing the moment he returned to the fleet. He was drinking heavily.

Halid'Zorah had sent footage of what he had uncovered from borrowing the spy drones for his investigation. Ancestors... he wished he hadn't.

The archived video was horrified, the trains, unloading people by the thousands, men separated from women and children, the old and sick separated from the healthy… sent off to an isolated building as the rest were shipped off to the quarters. The audio was nothing but screaming and crying, along with orders being yelled over the Camp P.A system.

The camera panned over and reveals bodies being pulled from this isolated building, they headed off in the direction of the factories. The smoke stacks bellowing smoke, Smoke that once was human beings.

How the hell could they do this? What possessed these men to commit such grievous crimes?! This was not much different than what the geth had done to them. How could they have been so ignorant? How could he have listened to his Mother-in-Law so blindly? Now here they were trying to uplift a people that were committing acts of mass execution and forced labour.

Pounding back his glass of brandy, he dropped the glass and leaned into his seat. To think that he was allowing his only daughter to see one of these National Socialist bastards, even after he once went into a long winded Anti-Semitic rant. How could he have let that incident slip his mind?

Once Joachim Hoch and Hanala got home, they would be having a long conversation about this.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _"-Upwards to two million dead Jews and potentially other ethnic groups... Four and half million labourers enslaved into the war production plants... How is that even possible? How could Germans do this? How could we allow this to happen?"_

 _"When you have that little humanity, anything is possible. I have no voice in this mass murder, but I do with the labour activities. I wish that it wasn't so but in a frantic effort to keep up with our enemies, Todt had to do something to gather as much manpower as possible. I could not break the cycle, no matter how hard I had tried. With Sauckel out of the picture..."_

 _"Enough from you… I did not consent to speak with a brown shirt, not one so closely connected to that menace in the Reichstag."_

It took only a full day before the Crown Prince had sought an audience with the Generals and the quarian Admiral. This time, however it was decided that they would have to bring about insurmountable evidence of the crimes that were being committed. Zorah needed to shock Wilhelm out of complacency, out of his justified fear of ascending to a position of power that frightened most of the world, conjuring images of brutal trench warfare and the fear that Wilhelm would want to seek control over the whole of the world.

What many hadn't really considered was that the events of twenty years ago were at the fault of the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, the near psychopathic nationalism of the Serbian people and the Russians provoking the small state into making large claims on the dying Hapsburg Empire. The only reason the Kaiser went down that road to war because of his obligations to his alliances. The whole mess from twenty years prior was just about everyone's fault but Germany, who ended up taking the majority of the blame for what had occurred.

That was not to say that the Kaiser of old, Wilhelm II was innocent by the impression he had received from Von Rundstedt and a variety of war veterans and monarchists; the Kaiser was a stubborn, paranoid mess who had planned for war since the turn of the century. His demands for an aggressive war with the vision of Germany becoming a vast colonial power were his goal. His generals were only too happy to oblige him. It was little wonder why the Entente would impose such harsh terms on Germany if they based all of their evidence on a group of individuals rather than the whole of the nation, which simply stood by the notion _'My country, right or wrong'_.

Well that western European fear of Germany nobility would have to be put to bed once the truth got out about the National Socialists dream of purifying Europe was no longer just a dream.

The return of the Kaiser's reign over Germany would be a welcomed change. If that was not possible… then perhaps the quarian people would have to take up their efforts with a different means. Civilizing the German population... A topic that was heartily believed in by Admiral Vaerhit and a route that was looking more and more attractive everyday Zorah stood in Germany and watched the common folk wander about their business without so much as questioning why the Jewish district had been cleaned out and shipped east.

Still in spite of this depressing notion of the mistake they jumped so blindly into, standing here in a room filled with prominent Germans discussing the destruction of the National Socialist state was somewhat heartening. Even with men like Speer, who was and continued to be a vital member of the regime.

This had brought about a new dilemma. They could not simply cast the entire political system out of the window no matter how much Halid wanted to orbital bombard the whole party at one of their rallies. Many minor officials would be needed to be used as they transitioned the government over to the Wehrmacht.

All of this would also necessitate keeping the majority of the Allgemeine-SS - the police arm of the SS – these men who were responsible for rounding up the Jews of Germany in their control to keep order over the Reich. The tumour that started with one man's raving would have to be very carefully cut out and treated once the initial destruction of the party would occur.

As much as Zorah wanted to wipe everyone out, it would simply not be possible without the same destructive measure that communists and the west had plans for the state the quarians had placed their faith in. Though it would be much easily to destroy... the sheer loss of life would be unimaginable to him. He would not stain his name any more than he had to. He would already go down in history as the quarian who allowed most of the criminal regime to escape.

"With all due respect, the rate of foreign labourers has significantly slowed down," Von Rundstedt spoke to the Crown Prince, interrupting Zorah's pessimism. "Minister Speer is on the verge of convincing Hitler to change the status women, from focused on the future of Germany and onto the present. All it took was the right push... Besides, Minister Speer has a vested interest in his own survival. Right, Minister?"

Speer, who was standing in the back, not invited to sit and dine with the crown prince and his heir simply nodded his head. He was grateful the support being extended to him, even if it was a blatant threat to his life.

"I only ever wanted to see Germany strong again, Your Majesty. I was caught up in the Hitler's vision for our nation, so much so that," Albert spoke softly. "Before it was more than what the previous government was doing, it was more than what your Father would have ever done. His thoughts were only for aggressive expansion. He placed us into this mess more than the Entente had."

The causal insult was not lost on the Crown Prince. He turned back and found Speer standing there. An expression of causal indifference splashed across his face.

"My Father may have sought any excuse for war, but would have never allowed Germany to fall into this mess again; my Father would not have ordered the rounding up of Jews to be fed into gas chambers and crematoriums. Everything those filthy Anglos said in the last war – about the Reich boiling down bodies to make soap – the lies they told have come true," Wilhelm growled at the unblinking architect. "If half of Zorah's reports are true than I would imagine most of Europe's Jews have been exterminated by your friend."

"It was his underling Himmler and his _sycophant_ , Heydrich who has pursued the Jewish program," Gerd spoke up, "I seriously doubt the Führer is even aware that this has happened. He has been so absorbed by the war."

As incredulous as this sounded - that Hitler had no idea what was happening – Zorah could not blame the Generalfeldmarschall for feeling such a way. Despite his higher social circle than Hitler, the Austrian had turned everything around for the old soldier and made him feel useful after the end of the first war. There was still a sense of loyalty, despite his plotting. Von Rundstedt had no plans on killing the Führer or having others do such a thing. He wanted him alive to face a trial. Zorah could agree with his sentiments. The only way to dismantle the regime was to have the head of it dragged in front of a trial judge and condemned in front of the eyes of the world.

Although Gerd von Rundstedt may have felt that way, Wilhelm certainly didn't.

"Whether that mad Austrian knew it or not, the blood is still shed, " Wilhelm III announced his rage as clear as day. "We will be forever shamed by it, whether we win this war or not."

Zorah watched in silence as the room fell silent as Von Rundstedt lit a cigarette and quietly smoked away without so much as asking permission to do so in the Crown Prince's own home.

"We need to get in front of this," Von Rundstedt spoke through his plume of smoke. We need to mould these events as an activity which we put a stop to. Publicity will be important in the immediate post National Socialist Germany. That the Allies knew these camps existed, yet did not bomb them, that that it took us standing up to stop this madness. We may not save these lives, but we can do everything within our power to stop the madness. The Führer must be arrested and put on trial; him, along with his whole circle... with a possible exception to _you_."

Gerd gestured to Speer, who remained stiff as a board. The architect turned Minister of Armaments did not like hearing the debate about his future. A small clearing of a throat caught everyone's attention. It was Louis Ferdinand, who was looking to the aging Prussian soldier.

"What is your timetable Generalfeldmarschall?" The heir of the House of Hohenzollern inquired curiously. "With so many dying every day needlessly, whether through war or this extermination, you must enact it as soon as possible. This madness is unsustainable and it will only make the world hate us more."

Gerd turned to face the Prince Louis, Halid watched as Rundstedt offered him a slight smile, nearly condescending of the idealism he was seeing from both of the royals. They were both out of the political loop since the Nazis exiled the whole family to the confines of their land estates.

"We cannot simply bludgeon through this because people are dying," Gerd returned as he set his cigarette down in the ashtray. "We must be slow and methodological. This must be taken at a much more careful pace than that fool Henning Tresckow..."

Behind the gathering, Speer frowned to himself.

"Another conspiracy exists?" he inquired curiously.

Zorah's head turned from the royalty to the Generalfeldmarschall who was sipping his drink carefully. There was another sect in Germany working to the same ends and it involved military officers? Why hadn't men like Heinrici, who name dropped notable Anti-Nazi's had not bothered to make mention at just how many men were taking a much more active role in the elimination of the men in charge of the nation.

Gerd offered Zorah a faint smirk. Halid wasn't the only ones; Wilhelm and Louis were also surprised by the words spoken by the Prussian.

"The always intuitive Halid'Zorah is surprised by this?" Von Rundstedt spoke, his voice hinting at being amused by the shock registered in the quarian. "Yes, a whole cadre of officers, accompanied by the political survivors of Hitler's wraith has been working in secrecy to see to his assassination."

Halid rubbed his head, this was... how did he miss this? More importantly, why hadn't Von Rundstedt mentioned this beforehand? Had Gerd been deceiving him?

"Why haven't we incorporated them into our designs yet?" the Admiral spoke finally to the old man; he did his utmost not to show his seething annoyance. "Men who have no love for Hitler are our friends. Men we should not ignore, but use to our benefit."

The Junker shrugged idly as he took another mouthful of cigarette smoke.

"Oh... but we are using them, whether you realized it or not," Gerd returned idly. "Do you not wonder why the SS have not spotted so many meetings between so many officers? Tresckow's conspiracy is much more useful to us as men who keep the SS distracted. They openly discuss murder of the Führer amongst one another. It's maddening to think that they can stop all the death by killing one man… almost childish… useful idiots to cover our own intentions."

Zorah nodded reluctantly he did not like being in the dark. He needed to remain in the know for the duration of the insurrection. Having Rundstedt hide things from him was extremely counterproductive to his cause.

"I should at least target one of them and work in conjunction with them..." Zorah murmured lowly, to which Gerd nodded in agreement.

"I would take in one or two of them. Wilhelm Canaris the most likely out of all of them, he appears to be the only sensible of the bunch," the Prussian Generalfeldmarschall elaborated. "With his position as the head of the Abwehr, he'll serve us better than the rabble he's connected to now."

At long last, the only National Socialists in the room, Albert Speer, decided to join the Royals, the Generalfeldmarschall and the quarian Admiral.

"How do you know all of this?" He demanded to know from the older man. It was a question that Zorah was going to ask and Wilhelm III looked equally curious for an answer.

Rundstedt could only shrug.

"Because out of all of our military commanders, I am the one who that has to be on their side to make a cause look legitimate," Rundstedt spoke; his voice filled with personal pride in that fact. "They come to me because they know without me as a public face; they are doomed to a pipe dream. If they do somehow kill the Führer, they will hold little power to cause Germany to prosper but enough power to make our nation descend into sheer chaos. They have no military ability to project their will."

Rundstedt finished the last of his drink and sighed.

"Besides," he nastily added. "Most of them aren't Prussian."

Zorah raised his eyebrow.

"You're going to have to lighten that ruling soon enough," the quarian spoke, his voice amused by Gerd distaste for non-Prussian generals. "My colleague is telling Rommel as we speak. You're going to have to change."

Gerd frowned. He clearly did not like that the quarians were now informing Rommel about what they were planning to do. Sighing, he turned to Wilhelm.

"Will you do it, _your Imperial and Royal Majesty_?" The Generalfeldmarschall asked of the Crown Prince, mocking his title. "Will you take command of your birthright?"

As annoyed as the Crown Prince, the head of the Hohenzollern family, was by the dripping sarcasm offered by the brutal old militarist was, he nonetheless debated the question. Slowly, he shook his head.

"I can get behind your cause, but you do not need me as your Kaiser," the elder Prince spoke to the men gathered before him. "I'm old; I'm set in the past. Germany needs a Crown Prince thinking for her future. That man is my son. My heir is a man Germany requires as our Kaiser..."

Zorah watched in stunned silence as Gerd's head snapped to Louis Ferdinand direction, who looked just as startled as he was. His father was all but resigning his position as head of the family to a son who wasn't expecting this duty for many, many years to come. Zorah could not believe this was happening either. His research into the Heir told him that he was everything the last emperor of Germany wasn't...

This was... interesting.

"Father, I'm not Kaiser Material by any means of the title," Louis spoke to his father, still shocked that his Father was doing this to him. "I'm not some militarist. For God's sake I have an engineering decree. I have no qualifications to be a Kaiser for the German people. Not when the military will pursue war in the east."

Speer cleared his throat.

"With all due respect, so long as you have a reign over your temper and don't blunder on every foreign issue, you would make a better Kaiser than your Grandfather could ever dream to have been," Speer spoke idly, a slight smirk offered to Gerd von Rundstedt, who nearly looked close to laughing at how true Speer's words were.

Fortunately for the two men, Wilhelm paid it no mind as he looked on his son with a pride few men had felt for somebody.

"Louis, my son, you are a man of the world in an era where our world grows smaller by the day," Wilhelm praised, his hand reaching over to clap the young man's hand carefully. "I'm a relic in this era, trained by my father's advisers. An educated, world travelled Kaiser will bring about a German Reich with a more open, kinder image. You can be the catalyst of change."

With that said, Wilhelm stood from his seat, as did the rest of the room. Offering his son one final smile, he turned and departed the room, leaving the military men and the civilians alone. Sighing, Louis turned to the group of conspirators, his eyes focused onto Admiral Zorah.

"May I have a word, Admiral?" Louis inquired. "Alone preferably…"

Zorah nodded and turned to the other two. Rundstedt and Speer obliged the quarian, both of them quietly discussing the developments. It wasn't long before the dining room was emptied with the exception to Zorah and Louis, who took a seat, his head pointing to the floor as he seemed to be troubled by the development.

"I support any stance against Hitler and his thugs, Admiral Zorah. I know that you are doing all that you can do and I can see that this mess is straining your patience," the Prince all but begged of the quarian. "I must ask that you must be restrained, if you have the technology to decimate Germany I beg you not to use it. We can be saved. It will take a lot of hard work, but I can promise you that we will grow."

Halid stood there staring at the Prince. To say he was conflicted was an understatement. The Prince seemed decent enough; he even spoke in the words of a man earnest in his convictions. He was the sort of German that Halid could respect, but was growing more and more difficult to find. Sighing tiredly, the quarian shook his head.

"To be honest, I'm finding it harder and harder to justify the existence of your people each day," Halid spoke plainly to the Prince. "I will be in contact with you."

With that said, Zorah turned and left the Prince, leaving the young hoping beyond hope that Halid'Zorah would keep his temper in check.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: Clean up, Altered Hitler's discussion of the MP-44. At the time I was under the impression that he was resistant to change, but there was some convince argument I read recently that it wasn't that he resisted it, he didn't want to go ahead implementing the new rifle into the Heer until a significant amount of these weapons could be produced and make a difference. There just was not enough of these weapons built in 42-43 to warrant shifting ammunition production to yet another new cartage.**

 **Significant altering of the last scene; I felt Von Rundstedt was far to earnest about saving the Jews. He was too emotional, so I altered that to fit the opportunistic nature of his character. Von Rundstedt was not a nice person, who did things because it was right. Saving the concentration camp victims is not done because it's the right thing to do. It's all for public image, which was better reflected in the later stories. I guess I went for an emotional "We have to do it because it's right" approach because I was starting to get inundated with anti-Semitism accusations.**

 **I keep getting questions about wanting to know how to get access to the earlier versions. They might be erased from the site, but the internet never forgets. Google the story, perhaps my name and the phrase 'fanfiction' and you'll more than likely stumble on an archive with all the stories I pulled down.**

 **Also, no none of my femturian writing is dead. I'm just getting through the rest of this story. The next chapter to Private World is well underway.**


	11. September 24th, 1942

**Chapter Eleven: September 24th, 1942**

 **...**

"You seem distracted. Is everything all right?"

Halid'Zorah looked up from the floor of the hospital that Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel was staying in and found Admiral Utala'Falan hovering close to him, her expression unreadable as she took in Zorah's broodiness.

"With an exception to a few men we work with, I'm finding it really hard not to order an orbital bombardment right here, right now," Halid muttered, his head shaking.

Falan nodded silently. She had just heard what was happening; she and Rommel learned together that Zorah had found dozens of camps spread out across the Eastern occupied territories, all of them meant to kill the racially impure, the politically unreliable and the developmentally disabled.

She could appreciate the anger surging in the younger Admiral. It reminded her of Rommel's anger and disgust when Halid had told him. Rommel however was still very much on the fence about the insurrection. He wanted to speak to the Führer. He would not reveal the plot; he just needed to know if the Führer was aware of the madness that the SS were committing. It was an impossible conversation to have, in light of everything.

"What about you? How are you feeling?" Halid'Zorah enquired his voice somewhat lighter than his mood was showing. "I heard that you were ill for a while."

"Much better now, thank you," Falan returned, grateful that the thoughts of genocide could be shoved aside for a few seconds.

Halid nodded his head as Utala turned her focus away from him.

"I couldn't help notice that Rommel was ill as well."

"Yes, he's sick and wasn't showing it…" Falan explained to the junior Admiral. "I have been in much too close proximity with him. It seems as though I got a rather nasty infection, but I am fine now..."

Falan trailed off and turned back and found Halid staring at her pointedly. It took only a matter of seconds to realize what he was implying with such a significant stare.

"Wait... wait, what… no…not at all… how could you even _think_ that!?" The female stuttered out as she took in the blank stare of Halid'Zorah. Shaking her head, Falan add, "Keelah, He's married, how could you imply such a thing?"

Zorah could only shrug.

"Seeing Jarva's daughter sniff around Hoch like he's her new little plaything..." Zorah simply explained. Sighing, he shook his head and added. "It's going to be interesting blending in..."

Before Falan could once again deny an infatuation with Rommel, The door to the hospital waiting room opened up. In stepped two uniformed Germans', one short and thin, the other looming over his comrade, he was limping slightly. The men ceased their conversation as they looked up to the other occupants of the room. What little colour in Halid's face paled as the near skeletal giant narrowed his eyes on him.

It was Reinhard Heydrich, next to him stood Heinrich Himmler, both of whom knew exactly what they were standing in Rommel's waiting room.

Himmler tilted his head slightly, curious as to why there were quarians waiting at Rommel's bedside.

"What are you doing here?" Himmler inquired, stepped past Heydrich, his tone jovial. "I do not believe we have met yet."

The two quarians glanced at one another. Zorah had nothing to say to the bastard.

"Admirals Utala'Falan and Halid'Zorah," Falan introduced the two of them, hoping beyond hope that the two men did not notice Zorah shaking with rage. "We work in conjunction with Generalfeldmarschall Rommel. We have a vested interest in insuring German victory in North Africa."

The lie appeared to have worked on one of them. Himmler simply offered the two quarians a slight smile and a glance to his subordinate. Heydrich, who was glaring down on Zorah, He knew that something was happening. He did not seem willing to tell his boss about it however.

"Ah, the Admirals we have not had the pleasure of meeting," the Reichsführer greeted them. "Speaking of which, Heydrich, why don't you entertain the admirals? Rommel and I have a few things to discuss."

Smiling at the two quarians, Himmler stepped past Falan, who was nearly standing in front of Rommel's room, as though protecting it from the Reichsführer she did, however, step out of the way allowing Himmler entry. The door closed behind him, leaving the room compressed with an insurmountable tension as Heydrich and Zorah stared at one another.

"I know what you are doing across Europe..." Zorah finally spoke, his voice quivering with rage. "Did you think we were _blind_?"

Heydrich stood there, unimpressed by Zorah's discovery of his death camps.

"You had, according Hoch's reports a decade to see this," Heydrich wheezed out, his voice strangely off. "You had a decade to watch how humanity behaves to one another. You had a chance to watch the Soviets stare the Ukrainians to death, the Rape of Nanjing and the Japanese slaughter of the Chinese and two years of terrible war. You want all of our strengths but fear the blood that will inevitably be on our hands. The policy of Jewish relocation and terror campaign should have been one of the first things you had noticed. I am not the man who enacted these policies, I simply the man _finishing_ these policies."

Halid nearly lost control right there. This man, he had to be a sociopath of some sort. It was the only possible explanation.

"The early years Admiral Calis was the one devoted to watching you... you were her project," Halid explained as the Hangman of Prague approached him. "She was old and idealistic. She saw and reported only the things we wanted to see."

Heydrich stopped moving as he loomed over the quarians. He quirked his mouth open slightly.

"A terrible combination," he mused aloud. "How fourtnate you are to have such an excuse at hand."

Halid nodded in agreement with Heydrich's assessment. He looked close to snapping, close to attacking the taller human.

"Yes... yes it was. She did not see what I saw." Zorah tried to speak without stuttering. "Vast camps stretched across this continent, killing political enemies and impurities by the tens of thousands every day? Working them to death in your factories… this madness will end one way or another."

Heydrich was now only several feet from him. He stood their looking down on the quarian, his skull like expression smiling confidently at the quarian in the Wehrmacht uniform.

"What do you plan to do about this?" he challenged the quarian.

Before Halid could reply, he paused his rant building inside of him and suddenly found himself smiling at the sight of him.

"Utala..." Halid spoke, his voice low, almost with a smirking tone as inspected the sickly Heydrich. "Look at him... that's cybernetic rejection..."

Falan glanced over Heydrich, surprised at the assessment. Heydrich didn't reply, his eyes were simply narrowed at Zorah.

"I thought so..." Zorah breathed, unable to believe his turn of good fortune. "It's one thing to give a man his arm back; it's quite another thing to have him tinkering around in your organs..."

Zorah could only laugh as he watched what little colour Heydrich had vanish. Heydrich was dying at the hands of the technology meant to save him. Perhaps there was some justice left in the world.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Hanala had never before felt so lost in her life.

She was standing in a newly acquired turian cruiser staring out at a vast thick opaque gas and dust cloud none as the Perseus Veil. She was now the closest quarian to reaching the home world. Yet she would never pass though the cloud just past this veil was the machines, waiting to finish off their masters bastards, freaks. The geth deserved nothing short of complete and total annihilation.

She was probably not alone in this feeling. The geth were a mistake just waiting to be fixed. All sensible quarians felt this way. Still, standing here was honestly the worse place she could possibly be. It was the very definition of temptation. Rearm this ship and push through the veil, killing every ancestor forsaken geth she could possibly kill. She would die but it would be to get this world back.

Dying... how very odd to be at peace with. It was the few things she would be willing to lay her life on the line. It was the few things that she and her brother had in common.

"Hanala?"

Hanala turned back from the haunting vista of the naval graveyard and found Joachim approaching her, no longer wearing his environmental suit; he instead wore his uniform minus his jacket and hat. Hanala tried to smile and turned back, her heart skipping a beat as Joachim's arm wrapped around her waist. She tried her best not to cry. She would not cry in his presence if it was possible. It was impossible to allow herself to be weak around him. No matter how terrible she felt about standing here where her ancestors were so brutally slaughtered simply for wanting their home back, where her uncles had perished, fighting to get back a planet where most of her family was exterminated.

Not allowing Joachim a moment to offer it as he stared blankly at the graveyard of smashed ships. It was clear to her that this was not something he could understand, like finding out that the Romans had made brief contact with the Protheans. Hanala reached into his pocket and stole his cigarette case and lighter. Still staring off, she lit herself a cigarette and took a long drag.

"This is the graveyard of the Heavy Fleet. Hundreds of thousands of my people are still trapped in the wrecks of what remains of this fleet," Hanala whispered under her breath to Joachim, smoking billowing from her mouth and nose. "The geth flanked the three military fleets and went after the civilian fleet. The heavy fleet turned back from the renewed offensive to save them and paid for it dearly."

Joachim nodded his head; Hanala could accept that he had no words for what he was looking at. In all likelihood he was worn out with all of what he had gotten to see on the Citadel. To anyone but a quarian, staring at a plume of space dust and smashed ships must have been dull to witness.

"This is the closest I will ever be to Rannoch, Joachim," Hanala admitted as her voice cracking as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Damn our ancestors and damn the geth monsters sitting on my world and waiting for us. They have killed so many and the galaxy thinks they are the victims. They were soulless machines, built to be ditch diggers, caretakers, menial tasks that allowed the quarian people more time to explore deeper and deeper into the technology to make life better for the Galaxy. A simple calculation error and a few idiots killed billions. The geth are just a blight now. The fact that the asari had thought about recognizing them as a race is disgusting."

Hanala fell silent as she leaned back into Joachim, who gripped her somewhat tighter. She turned her eyes away from the vista and looked instead at the tips of Joachim's boot, her mind fogged as she felt his hand move in slow circles against the small of her back. It made her feel somewhat better. Not much better however, her low mood was much too unmovable by the Joachim's sweet attempt at physical comfort.

"Would it be offensive to you if I am happy that you are not on Rannoch?" Joachim rumbled just above her head. "I would never have had met you if you were there. I probably would have been long dead in Russia."

Hanala flinched at his grim assessment of his own future had she not been there. It made sense he had rather... mellowed out since they first met. He wasn't quite the same brute force evolutionist that she met all those months ago. That was not to say that he was soft, just more... thoughtful. It just was strange and in all likelihood she would never dare admit she was holding such a view. Joachim wasn't above smacking her.

No... for now she would simply enjoy his rare displays of kind empathy.

"No... No I would not be offended if it was you saying such things. I guess there is one upside," she admitted, smiling up to him finally. "Still… I still want to pass through this veil. I want to bring an _unthinkable_ war on the geth. I know I will never get to do it now that we have long term plans for Earth... but I can still dream about it."

Joachim nodded and leaned his head down slightly, his lips grazing against Hanala's hair, earning a slight sigh.

"It's an admirable dream," he reassured her with a careful squeeze. "If you think that there is a future between us, I will do all in my power to make sure that you will get to stand on Rannoch."

Hanala broke apart from him and turned properly away from the Veil, fully focused instead on the words offered by Joachim. Joachim wasn't a man who would speak when it did not have an expressed purpose behind them. This was no different. Joachim stood here, promising her a world that he did not know existed until a few months ago, to a woman who was still lying to him, lying to him for just as long. Lying since Zorah told her to. Complacent like a good quarian should strive to be.

Hanala felt the pit in her stomach turn over. She felt completely awful, sick with a guilt that was barely tolerable now. She wanted nothing better than to scream out that the admirals had been using him. They used him to get a foothold into the Wehrmacht, lied to him about plotting against those he considered brothers. The SS were by no means angels, but who were quarians to judge? They were newcomers plotting and toying around with a nation and soon an entire world.

Feeling Joachim's hand moving up and down her, Hanala finally smiled properly and turned back to face him once more.

"Humanity... Germany will require more ships than just some stolen turian cruiser, even our fleet isn't ready," Hanala admitted to him ruefully. "Though... I would like it of that promise was kept... preferably when I am still young."

Standing on the tip of her toes she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him properly. She would savour these private moments. Things were only going to get worse from here.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

This was getting to be tedious, which was an understatement in itself... He was spending more time in the Ministry of Armaments than he was at Oberkommando der Marine.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Großadmiral Erich Raeder exhaled slowly billowing the last of the cigarette smoke from his nose. This was all his underlings fault that he had to fight so furiously. Saluting several Heer soldiers as he turned the corner and continued down another hall, he pondered this gathering with The Minister of Armaments, Albert Speer.

Speer was a pragmatist; he seemed to appreciate both arguments in the Kreigsmarine. It meant that Raeder still had a chance to sway the Minister to his side in the matter. He was no fool; he knew that the Royal Navy and now the American Navy would spell trouble for the surface fleet, but to simply scrap them in favour of U-boats? It was madness.

Reaching the offices, he froze. He was here. Why in the hell was _he_ here? Speer had assured him that both sides of the conflict would never meet together in his offices.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Raeder demanded to know finally, his voice hiding the rage he held for the man's presence.

The younger Admiral snapped his head up. Sitting there waiting to meet with what Raeder assumed to be Speer was Admiral Karl Dönitz. Raeder could not believe his ill luck. He had no time to school this fool.

Karl Dönitz was a man obsessed with the U-Boat Fleet. So much so that Dönitz had considered that he was the man in charge of the fleets. He was outspoken, boastful and arrogant beyond all other men he had ever served with. More importantly, he had been after Raeder's rank since the outbreak of the war. Little bastard, there was no honour left in this navy, especially when it came to U-boat men being sidelined because of his Admiralty.

Personally, Raeder would be happy to give the bastard a U-boat with explicit orders to hug the English coast, surfaced and exposed. It would make his life exponentially easier.

"I was summoned; I don't see why Speer has any need for your presence here." Dönitz stated nastily to the elder Großadmiral with very little respect for the rank. "The last thing we need are more goddamn surface ships and I have good authority that Speer will be in concurrence."

Before Raeder could storm over and throttle Dönitz until the man stopped breathing, the doors to the office opened and out stepped Albert Speer, his eyes darted between the two men that were in a state of perpetual conflict with each other.

"Großadmiral Raeder, Admiral Dönitz." Speer greeted the two men with as much charisma as he could summon. "Sorry to keep you both waiting, come in, can I get you something to drink before we begin."

"Something strong, Herr Speer," Dönitz spoke politely to the Minister of Armaments; "I'll need it once the esteemed Großadmiral starts blabbering about his antiquated, woefully outmatched surface fleet."

From where Speer stood, he could hear Raeder grinding his teeth. Once again, before Raeder could trade fire with the U-Boat captain, Speer held up his hand.

"Please Admirals," Speer intervened. "Fighting is unbecoming. Come in, we'll talk instead."

Raeder and Dönitz glared at each other hard. It took a slight cough from Speer to convince the two men to cease their hostility and obliged the man responsible for building their ships. Raeder and Dönitz followed, doing their best to push their conflicts to one side so that each of them could advocate their cause to the man in front of them.

"If you don't mind, I have someone who wanted to derail our discussion." Speer spoke, gesturing to the corner of the room.

The two Admirals froze as they noticed the thin old man sitting in the corner of Speer's office, wearing the uniform of a Heer Generalfeldmarschall. His eyes were hard as he returned their stare with a glare of his own. Speer glanced between the two parties, amused by what he was seeing. Interservice rivalry appeared to be somewhat amusing to him. Dönitz turned briefly to Raeder, his brow cocked in confusion. Standing from his seat Gerd von Rundstedt took a step forward to the younger men.

"Speer... what is _he_ doing here." Raeder demanded to know, his voice high with a rage that Dönitz could definitely agree with.

Speer glanced to the drinking Gerd von Rundstedt and simply smiled silently at the scandalized looks of the two Navy men to the presence of the Heer officer who sat there as though he was a judge presiding over them. Whatever differences they had it was settled right there and then as they glared at the Prussian.

"Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt is my guest, Admirals." Speer spoke plainly to the two men. "Today I wanted to show him an ounce of the things I am forced to endure daily basis."

Von Rundstedt's eyes turned to each of the two sailors in front of him. He appeared to be making an assessment on the two men before he finally leaned back into his seat. He turned away and focused on the Minister of Armaments, whom still had a friendly smile on his face.

"It appears I owe you an apology, Herr Minister," Von Rundstedt spoke up at last, his words and apology directed to Speer. "Here I thought you were overestimating your complaints. I had expected more from these old sailors. I do not think I would be able to handle two Admirals crying over surface ships and U-boats like my grandchildren over their _toys_."

All the anger directed between the two Kreigsmarine Admirals stopped in an instant. How dare this Heer bastard sit there and tell them off! Both men launched themselves at the Heer man, both men were stopped by the body of Speer who attempted to hold the sailors back from Von Rundstedt, who sat there with a smirk, amused and frightened by the two of them

"Well I am so sorry you feel our complaints are childish, _Herr Von Rundstedt_." The Großadmiral of the Kriegsmarine hissed sarcastically at the Generalfeldmarschall. "The thing is, our efforts have been sloppily dealt with. The Führer is far to enamoured by the land war that he forgets that the Navy is and will continue to be the most important factor in winning this godforsaken war! The only way to break the Anglos, break the Soviet aid convoys is through us!"

Gerd von Rundstedt's lips quirked, with menacing mocking, the Heer officer clapped.

"I see... and what fine job you have done thus far. Are you so painfully ignorant, that you don't think that the Heer has our own problems? The SS are given special preference to the latest equipment; they reallocate every available train for their own... _activities_. My men were not provided with the most basic of snowsuits to survive a Soviet winter," Von Rundstedt informed the sailors, his voice remaining calm. "While you two have a pissing contest over how much tonnage your respective factions sink, my men are dying, your men are dying. They fight with more tenacity than we have ever seen."

Gerd von Rundstedt paused, his eyes darting between the two men.

"If the sailors of the Kreigsmarine could see their leaders squabble like a couple of sexual deviants in the SA over whose brown shirt is better pressed, they would be absolutely disgusted and defect to the Royal Navy."

His words done, Gerd von Rundstedt instead simply scowled at the two men and finished his drink, reaching for a cigarette to smoke. His words rattled the two sailors. For in that moment, the two men realized just how childish they were behaving, moving their fleets around like child toys, screaming at Speer for resources and for the Führer's favour. Why did it take an old soldier to remind them that in the ships and U-Boats they scrabble over were men dying for the nation they sought to protect?

"He's right… Goddamnit he is right…" Dönitz finally admitted to the group.

Speer could only chuckle at the two men finally finding common ground.

"Both of you has middle ground, you know," he reflected, catching the two sailor's attention. "You both share a deep seeded and righteous hatred of Göring, A man who will profit off the death of the Kreigsmarine. With no navy, his air force will get your steel, fighters and bombers are nice, but not when he's essentially throwing them into the English Channel or London."

The two Admirals glanced at one another. Their eyes hardened at the mention of the air marshal's actions at undermining the naval forces of Germany.

"Speer is right," Großadmiral Raeder growled suddenly. "That bastard has been pitting us against each other since the first day of the war... longer,"

Pausing, Erich turned to Dönitz and added. "I do appreciate the value of the U-Boat, but to focus solely on one aspect of the navy is doomed to eventual stagnation. The Kreigsmarine must be diverse."

Dönitz simply stared at his superior officer. He was not happy with the answer, but nor did he deny that Raeder had been wrong about his opinion.

"I still think surface ships are antiquated, that the U-Boat will be the only future for most, if not all navies," Dönitz, the ever stubborn submariner grumbled to no one in particular. Raeder shook his head; he looked very restraint by the junior officers' lack of respect for the traditional navy he advocated for.

"Not true... if I am allowed to finish the construction of the _Graf Zeppelin_ and the other three aircraft carriers in development, it would change the face of naval combat for the Kreigsmarine. Japan and America's carrier forces are a new naval doctrine we must make our own." The older Großadmiral argued. He paused and added lowly, "Perhaps then, I will admit that the era of the battleship is over."

The two admirals fell silent, neither of them paying mind to Von Rundstedt, who appeared rather disgusted by their sentimentality. Naval officers were always the oddballs. Rifles and tanks broke, only the enlisted man put any sentimental value in them. Navy men were and would always be stuck in the mindset of being a lowly petty officer. It did not matter if they held the rank of Großadmiral , sea dogs never changed.

Speer gestured to the two seats in front of his desk, which the Admirals took. The minister of Armaments turned away and poured the two men a drink. The two men did so, clinking their glasses together and took a drink.

"I will admit this." Dönitz finally spoke as he set down his glass and address the Großadmiral. "If you ever have the chance to take the _Scharnhorst_ or the _Tirpitz_ up to the cost during one of Göring's many coastal vacations and ordered the ship to fire a full volley on him, I would definitely soften my view on your dinosaur ships."

The two Kreigsmarine men laughed heartily. Von Rundstedt could not help it. He too cracked a mild grin. Heer and Kreigsmarine, regardless of political differences, always hated the Luftwaffe.

As they drank until the four men were good and drunk. There would be no discussion of Von Rundstedt's plot. It was one thing to convince members of your own, military branch, it was quite another to approach men that the Führer had forced the three branches of the Wehrmacht into vicious rivalry.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

This was madness, sheer madness. Betraying the Reich, this was the ultimate goal of the quarians presence on Earth?

Sure, Rommel was the first to admit that the Führer had his faults. The Führer however was a good man, a great leader. The thought that Rundstedt and the rest of his Prussian elite was intended to spearhead this coup against the political and paramilitary men in Berlin was unimaginable

Honestly, he did not think it was in the old man had it in him. He was a clever fence sitter. Teetering between loyalty to Germany and his grudging respect of Hitler for everything he had done for the army. From rearming the county to destroying the SA the moment they begun planning a revolt against the army. It was impressive to see him vigorously plotting considering his health condition not being top notch anymore.

Still, he had to wonder about everything Utala'Falan had done for him. Was it all just a means to an end? It was rare to find comradely these days. To find a soldier's spirit in a woman was even rarer. It certain brought forth a whole level of respect for that SS man who wandered into his operations, having to handle a strong willed woman who wasn't afraid to shed some blood when the situation had called for it.

So to have her pull him aside and tell him that the quarians had intended that the party that saved Germany from the abyss was only months away from being openly revolted against came at a shock and some sense of betrayal. He did not like being kept in the dark. It was one thing for the quarians to have a stake in the campaign he was fighting; it was quite another thing to find all of this out in the span of perhaps an hour conversation where Rommel was much too drowsy to get a word in edgewise.

"Generalfeldmarschall Rommel, how are you feeling?"

Rommel turned away from his folder and found the scrawny head of the SS standing the in an attempt to project his power over the ailing Generalfeldmarschall. Rommel wasn't impressed in the slightest. Yes, he was quite possibly the second most powerful man in the Reich, for Rommel

"Reichsführer, how can I help you?" Rommel found his voice, haggard and neutral as he stared at the SS leader.

Rommel could not believe this; he was supposed to be in recovery, recuperating from his prolonged illness. Here he was getting visits from the likes of Heinrich Himmler.

"No dear Generalfeldmarschall, I have come to help you tonight, Herr Rommel," Himmler sighed as he closed the door. "Why don't you relax and pretend this Heer and SS rivalry can be pushed aside for the Fatherland's sake."

The remark was curious to say the least. Himmler was usually very up front about how he felt about the Wehrmacht, going so far as to openly feud with the Wehrmacht high command. To have him suddenly polite was a sight to say the least. Rommel choose against offering any words to reply to, it was all the incentive Himmler required to continue on.

"Operation Herkules is on the verge of being sunk by the Führer, much to the Reichsmarschall's glee," Himmler spoke once again, his face twisted in disgust. "Göring fears a repeat of the invasion of Greece, and with good measure. He did not properly prepare for the campaign. You, however, are not Göring. You will have placed some thought into the attack."

Wiping his eyes and trying not to moan, the Desert Fox leaned on his arm. Herkules was already on the verge collapse? How in the hell could these idiots crash a credible plan. He needed to recover soon, he needed the Führer to understand that the operation was vital to the eventual crossing of the Suez at least until the Eastern front got their act together, conquered the Caucasus' and hit through Persia.

"The workload will be spread out. I can have the Regio Marina bombarding the gun positions, The U-boats in the Mediterranean keeping English reinforcements at bay, the Luftwaffe controlling the skies. I just need boots to hit the soil and not just the Italians," he wheezed to the unblinking head of the SS, whom stared down upon him like a judge. "I do not have to be in charge of the operation if that is what he fears. Kesselring has shown an interest in taking a command role in the operation. He can keep the operation purely Luftwaffe led. I just need that island suppressed for quicker reinforcements and supplies to the front line."

Himmler stared, blinked and suddenly was chuckling at the remark, as though Rommel was a naive schoolboy. Rommel wanted nothing better than to reach up and wrap his hand around the bastard's throat.

"Once more you only think of soldiering and pay no mind to the politics and personalities you're trying to play with. What you do is not the concern to him. Malta could be taken if done properly, the thing that holds back the attack is Göring's pride," Himmler spoke as he took yet another step closer, now next to the bed. "He failed in Greece, he failed in Britain and he's beginning to fail in Stalingrad. One more serious failure and that fat piece of shit will lose his place at the Führer's side, your friend Kesselring his most likely of replacements."

Himmler smiled politely at the staring Rommel.

"This is where I come in," Himmler continued on. "The Führer will take Göring's word over yours; the Führer will take my word of Göring's. One word from me in an official capacity and I can have your operation underway whenever you see fit."

Rommel coughed and looked up to Himmler, his face impassive as Rommel wiped the sweat from off of his brow. Looking weary, he pulled himself up and rested his back against the metal post of the bed. He could not believe he was listening to this, he could not believe that for once in his life Rommel found himself seriously contemplating what the Reichsführer was offering to him. Like Satan making over him a deal to save his campaign, to seal his reputation as the one man in the desert who did.

"What's your price?" he wondered out aloud to the man hovering over him.

Himmler could only smile as took a seat on the seat next the Generalfeldmarschall, his hat coming off his head as his hand pushed any frayed hair to the side.

"1st SS Panzer Division Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler has been refitted as a Panzergrenadier division. They are rested and ready to be reactivated. Obergruppenführer Sepp Dietrich has requested that his unit be deployed into soft combat until they are properly prepared for the east," the Reichsführer spoke plainly to the ailing Desert Fox. "I want them deployed on your front with your personal blessing. I want you teaching them to fight."

Rommel's eyes narrowed furiously at the slimy looking bespectacled Reichsführer staring at him, waiting for answer that would not come quickly. Himmler wanted him to take in what was considered the Praetorian Guard of the Führer into his ranks. Had he not made it perfectly clear with the SS that there was to be no compromise on the matter? Besides, the division could be deployed protecting the supply lines to the East. Stopping partisan attacks, the sort of thing a glorified police army were most talented doing. He remembered Poland, how quick they were to die for the Führer for the first days of the conflict. No wonder the SS was now conscripting.

"I won't have SS boots in Africa," Rommel refused without a hesitation. "I have told this to you and the rest of your compatriots many times now. I practice war, not racial superiority against the British, or the inhabitants of the countries I fight across. I won't make this front political."

Himmler could only smile politely.

"I can assure you, any policies you think are in place will not be practised in Africa, it's much too mongrel and messy to be dealt with and we are only there to train," Himmler assured Rommel, his voice somewhat lighter now. "If you want your campaign to be successful, you will stop being so cankerous and start working together with those whom only wish to help. The British have to be completely obliterated before the American's are confronted in the west. This, I hear, you said it yourself to the Führer. Once they arrive and the British are not handled, you will lose control of this momentum."

Rommel remained silent as he took in Himmler's offer wearily. It was growing more and more logical to the man who could have to face the onslaught of fresh American soldiers, willing and eager to make Rommel's efforts into a nightmare. Yes, he had at least two, maybe three months before America turned her tremendous strength to face him.

"You can be in charge of them if you so wish, keep them under the tight supervision of your subordinates, but SS boots in Africa are the only ways Operation Herkules will survive and keep the Afrika Korps from being starved by the growing resistance of Malta," Himmler tacked on. "You will need all the help you can get once you pass the Suez."

He had to concede to Himmler's shrewd observation. He looked so dull, unimaginative, but it was all just a ruse. Behind the image of helpful reminders laid a mind that had mastered logic and manipulation. He knew how to exploit the fears of men.

Exhaling slowly, reluctant to do so, the Desert Fox simply nodded, accepting the SS division joining his fight.

Rommel was ultimately just a man, not the legend he wanted to be, nor was perceived by his enemies. He was quite capable of making mistakes. Allowing the SS into his front would become one act that would forever tarnish his image. He would just have to redouble his efforts to keep a close leash on them.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Closing the door behind him, Heinrich Himmler turned back and found Heydrich staring wearily at the quarians. Whatever conversation they were having was over and had ended in a staring match between the two men. The woman on the other hand, looked ashen faced; she was sitting down, her eyes flickering to the door. Rommel's room,

As though she was itching to go and check on him but did not want to do it the presence of the SS leadership. Himmler wrinkled his nose. The implication was unpleasant. The fact that Joachim Hoch, one of his own had taken an interest in them was perverse, bordering on being no better than buggery in his opinion.

"Herr Reichsführer," was all the male quarian could say to him as he turned his attention from Heydrich.

Himmler inclined his head only slightly to the alien.

"Admirals, I wish you nothing but success for your African adventures," Himmler spoke to the two aliens. He did his best to remain polite to the two of them. He gestured to Heydrich, who glared hard at the two aliens and followed his Reichsführer out of the room.

Before they left, out of the corner of his eye, the woman admiral had stood up and near stormed into Rommel's s room. Heinrich could only snort,

"How did it go?" Heydrich spoke to Himmler, making the Reichsführer turn his attention back to the sick looking man. He seemed off... almost worried even. Himmler paid it no mind to his pupil. Whatever had happened between them was not his concern.

"He went for it, or at the very least, he will consider it. He's not going to turn down twenty five thousand heavily armed shock troops," Himmler spoke to the emaciated blonde beast as he closed the door behind the two of them. "Tell Eichmann he is to be attached to Dietrich. I want him making notes of the populations under Afrika Korps control for population statistics is fed into our system..."

Himmler paused and turned back to Heydrich, eyes earnest as he pulled off his glasses to clean the delicate lenses.

Himmler paused; his eyes looked up to Heydrich.

"Whatever is done there could be the key to holding this world in our hands," he whispered to the younger man. "Perhaps once the quarians are eradicated, so will galaxy waiting for us."

The words made Heydrich freeze.

" _Eradicated_?" Heydrich repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. Himmler could only chuckle as he shook his head at the nativity of the man who thought himself the eventual successor of the Führer.

"Let me make this clear. They will only be useful until we have their technology mastered." Himmler spoke plainly to the man as they stepped out of the hospital. "Their story about their people's exile, destroyed by their own creations... they are weak, the only thing that stands between our dominance over them is their weapons. Once we have it under our power, we'll turn the weapons against this weak, rotten, _subhuman_ race."

Heydrich nodded, he accepted the answer. Still, he sighed resignedly.

"Those quarians know about the program."

Himmler turned back, surprised at the blatant remark made by the emaciated student. They knew about what they were doing? The extermination of entire peoples, what did they plan to do with that knowledge? Would they try to stop them? Who told them about it? There were only two SS men that were close to the quarians: Joachim Hoch and Gerald Langer. Langer however, was nowhere near as connected to them as Hoch was.

Taking a deep controlled breath, Himmler turned to Heydrich.

"Tell Kaltenbrunner to pick up Obersturmbannführer Hoch the next time he shows his face in Vienna," Himmler commanded. "He had better have some answers."

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: Clean up, more Ostaro plot point thrown out.**


	12. October 10th, 1942

**Chapter Twelve: October 10th, 1942**

 **...**

The rumbling of the armoured cars died down as the armoured troop transport pulled on the sidewalk just across from Ss. Cyril and Methodius Cathedral, nestled a few blocks from the Vltava River. Dusk was just falling over the Cathedral hidden away, a few blocks away. The streets were eerily abandoned as a dozen Opel Blitz transports followed suit, along with three additional armoured cars appeared, their 20 millimetre cannon's pointing at the building already, covering the two hundred heavily armed SS grenadiers as they moved to garrison the buildings adjacent to the church of behind whatever cover there was in the street.

Otto Skorzeny could believe this was actually occurring. The Gestapo had managed to _convince_ one Karel Čurda into giving up his compatriots and the assassins. They were now taking refuge in a Cathedral of all places. It may not of been his denomination, and he might have been a non-practising Catholic, but the concept of raiding a church, or worse yet the men that were preparing for a siege was certainly troubling the soldier. It seemed… it seemed so very _wrong_.

"Are you absolutely certain that they're in there?" Skorzeny asked as he stubbed out his cigarettes and reached for the bullhorn buried under his seat. With his other hand, he upholstered his pistol and climbed out of the back of the vehicle.

Standing on the pavement in front of the partisan garrisoned holy site already was Gruppenführer Karl Fischer von Treuenfeld, barking orders to the men still out in the street to take cover and ready their weapons. He was a stern faced Northern German who didn't an ounce of patience in him. Well he would do his best to keep the superior officer on his list. He was here on the Führer's orders, Treuenfeld was here because he needed his men and was in constant contact with the Gestapo.

"Of course I am sure, does it really matter if they're not?" Treuenfeld shot back as he turned from the company of SS men and back to the lead investigator. "They've been known to harbour the criminals across Prague. I'm surprised this raid hasn't occurred sooner."

"Karel Čurda's leads have been narrowed down to the church," Skorzeny muttered as he took the megaphone. "If he knows what is best for him, this lead will not be false like the others."

 _ **"This is Obersturmführer Otto Skorzeny, lead investigator of the Heydrich assassination plot!"**_ Skorzeny called out from over the Megaphone. _ **"Come out quietly and I can assure you that no harm will befall any man and woman who have not been identified by the Gestapo as the assassin!"**_

Skorzeny set the Megaphone back on the edge of the Hanomag and turned to watch the door. He stood there waiting for something, any sort of reaction from the occupants of the Church. It wasn't long before the congregation or whoever was inside starting shouting so loudly it echoed through the stain glass windows.

The heavy church doors cracked open, earning the troops on the streets. Out stepped a religious man in his full regalia. He appeared as though he was an exorcist, trying to ward the SS from his sanctuary. Skorzeny frowned. He had done his research, this was Matěj Pavlík or as he was better known to the people as Bishop Gorazd, the hierarch of the Orthodox Church of Moravia. For man of his age, he stood there impressively, blocking the doors from intruders. Though Skorzeny was somewhat impressed by the fortitude displayed by the religious man, Treuenfeld was by no means moved by the show of passive resistance.

"Step out of the way, _Priest_. We have no quarrel with you unless you should give us a reason to," the Gruppenführer ordered, disregarding Gorazd's official title completely.

The Bishop turned from the angered brute general and to Skorzeny. He still did not move from his door as he stood there impressively for a man his age. Otto had to respect the zeal the elder had shown in the face of so many men looking for any reason to make this situation into a bloodbath. Still the Bishop did not address Treuenfeld, who was growing more and more irritated as the seconds rolled by.

" _Priest_ , we have no time for your _games_ ," Treuenfeld growled once more, taking a step closer behind Skorzeny. "This is your only chance to allow us to investigate."

With a tired look spared to the Gruppenführer, he instead turned to face Skorzeny, whose pistol may have been in his hands, but it was held at the floor. Bishop Gorazd watched the scar faced commando intently, as though he was sizing the younger man up.

"Obersturmführer Otto Skorzeny, I must ask you and your soldiers to leave this place," the Bishop spoke plainly to the giant commando standing before him. "What you seek is not what you will find here. The men and woman are protected by the grace of _Him_ as they seek shelter on His consecrated ground."

Glancing back to the glowering Treuenfeld, Skorzeny turned back and slightly bowed his head to the old Bishop.

"Your Grace, I can appreciate your desire to protect those you shelter, but these two men are _assassins_ , there are no words you can use to deny the charge," Skorzeny tried to reason with the Orthodox Bishop. "Whether or not you believe their cause is justified, they are still _criminals_ who shot at threw a grenade at a man in cold blood. His children nearly rendered fatherless. These men are not innocent in the eyes of anyone, not even God."

Gorazd did not bother to appear sympathetic.

"They may not be innocent before God's eyes, but you do you find anything sympathetic for man who is sending hundreds... thousands east?" The Bishop challenged the Austrian, those his voice was soft despite the consternation deeply buried in his words.

"I said I was hunting the assassins. Not that I do not sympathize with their reasons," Skorzeny blurted, his fingers fiddling with his cigarette. "Heydrich is by no means innocent as the people of Prague know full; but he answers to the Führer, as do I. My orders are to bring them in. I _beg_ you not to make this situation worse than it could be."

The words made Treuenfeld freeze, shocked that Skorzeny would say such a thing about the men he was hunting, about Heydrich. Skorzeny pointedly refused to pay the Gruppenführer attention as the Bishop had been so skillfully doing.

"You seem much too thoughtful to be a part of these brutes," the Bishop spoke once more. He paused and then added. "I am truly sorry, but I cannot comply."

Skorzeny exhaled, why in the hell did these noble types still existed, why couldn't they understand that this was not a game being played, the men behind him were only being held back by his efforts!

"Then you will die here," Skorzeny warned the righteous man, his tone lacking any malice. "I'm only the investigator. These men are ultimately under _his_ control," he added, gesturing back to the Gruppenführer. "They will storm this place; they will kill every man and woman locked up in your church. They will string you up as an example as to how harbouring criminals shall be dealt with. They did it in my hometown, Vienna not long ago. Hundreds who were connected to a small cell that allowed a team not unlike the ones you are harbouring, to operate there. Precedent has been set, there, if they use it in the Reich proper, it will be used here."

Gorazd could only stroke his facial hair, his eye staring sadly to the SS commando.

"Then I will go with God should my time here is indeed concluded," the old Bishop mused, resigned to a fate that Skorzeny wasn't looking to commit him to. He paused and added. "You are a troubled soul, Herr Skorzeny. You think, you clearly can feel, you even bargain for me and my flock's lives, yet you do not realize that the men you work with are _Godless_ creatures, to be pitied more than feared. I do not know if you share faith, but I am praying for yo-."

A gunshot rang out and Bishop Gorazd's robes were suddenly cut up as a pistol round ripped through the old man's chest. Skorzeny's eyes widened his eyes; he turned back to Treuenfeld who stood there, his P38 smoking as kept it raised at the Bishop, his lips curled up in disgust, shooting the holy man, the only way to make the annoyance vanish.

 _ **"Treuenfeld, what have you done!?"**_ Skorzeny screamed at the top of his lungs. His voice echoing through the courtyard, His words ignored by the hundreds of SS men surrounding the Orthodox Church. From inside Skorzeny could hear the screams of the parishioners and the rebels.

The General did not pay the Commando any attention. Skorzeny tore his eyes from the impassive Treuenfeld and back to the Bishop who laid there propped against the church door, his hand clutching his wound as he simply stared at the two men as though he was absolving them. He drooped his head and closed his eyes, leaving this mortal plain and into the next one.

Before Skorzeny could react, an explosion hit against Skorzeny's halftrack, a simple petrol bomb. Treuenfeld grabbed the commando's shoulder and pulled him backwards to towards his men; Skorzeny could barely register the Gruppenführer screaming at his troops to raze the church to the ground.

The slaughter was on.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Admiral Alaan'Jarva rubbed his forehead. He could not believe that they were back so soon.

Honestly he had been expecting the two of them back in this system a few days from now. By then he would have had something to tell them, a rant directed towards the human of the duo. Joachim Hoch had gotten to see the universe, a vision of the future of humanity, now he had to see the reality, what he and his people were doing right under the nose of their enemies.

Alaan wished he could have been drunk. It was an impossible wish. He could not believe how blind Calis had been. Entrusting the National Socialists so much that she was willing to give her last decade of life to monitoring them. Not just monitoring them, but pointedly ignoring any of the evil that the regime had, only reporting back the good.

Why would she have done that? Why would she have duped everyone aware of humanity's existence that the Fascist would be the only viable option for genuine influence? Well, he could see how unstable the National Socialists were, but nearly every man in the regime was stained in one way or anothe-

"Hello Father."

Looking up, he noticed Hanala approaching him, a gentle smile being given to him so openly. Alaan found himself smiling despite his mood at the sweet tone of his daughter's voice. Before he realized it, lips were pressed on his cheek, arms wrapped tightly his waist. For brief second, Alaan forgot the atrocities, forgot just how corrupted Hanala had become since she ended up in custody.

Pulling back from his daughter's embrace, Alaan turned and simply stared briefly to the human standing at the door, his face blank as he allowed Hanala and her father. He looked like a machine hidden beneath human flesh. His very presence brought forth bile from the pit of the Admiral's stomach. He stood there as though he didn't know what his bosses were doing across the occupied lands of Europe.

To think that Alaan had approved that this was happening between his daughter and a monster, He should have listened to Galina in the first place. He should have not have had anything to do with their child.

"Father?"

Alaan turned back to face his daughter, now curiously staring at him. The father simply smiled.

"Welcome home," he managed to say. "I trust everything has worked out?"

"Yes it did," Hanala agreed. She paused, her smile faltered slightly as she took his hand and added. "Father, are you ill?"

Alaan merely shook his head. How could he possibly explain genocide to his child?

"No, I have an assignment for the two of you before you return to Vienna," The father lied to his child. He paused, took a deep steadying breath and directly turned to face Hoch, adding. "Joachim, I trust your journey across thousands of light-years have given you some perspective?"

Joachim tilted his head, for a man who had limited experience with quarians other than Hanala; he was clearly reading the seething Admiral. He crossed his arms and simply stood their observing Alaan's behaviour suspiciously.

"A drop ship will land you outside of Krakow," Alaan spoke again, directing his focus to his daughter. "Where you took Hanala after first contact, I believe."

"What is this about?" Joachim called from behind Hanala, his arms still crossed. Alaan allowed Hanala one last reassuring smile before he peered over her shoulder to stare down the uniformed Hoch. At least it was Alaan's impression.

"An SS survey team is clearing the last of the wreckage from there down the crash site," Alaan flat out lied to his daughter and her human, "I want you to make sure that neither the element zero containers have not leaked, nor the material is smuggled for research by your friends."

Noticing the look of indignation on the tall bastard's face, Jarva did his best not to explode and attack him like every sense, every moral he held dear told him to do.

"There are many things your people are not ready for," Alaan instead spoke instead of simple attacked the staring human. "Element zero is one of those things your race isn't ready for."

Joachim did not appear pacified by the answer. Instead he looked furious, almost as though he was being treated like a child by the Admiral. Hanala, never blind to a sour situation reached out and took the hand that belonged to a mass murderer. Hoch broke his stare and looked to Hanala. His cold eyes lightening somewhat as Hanala seemed to believe what her father was saying.

Privately, Alaan wondered if German's suffered from a collective dual personality disorder; Charming, then a sociopath at a drop of a hat.

"Of course, Father," Hanala agreed with him, offering her father a smile of her own. "We'll handle it right away."

Taking a deep inhale, Alaan turned his eyes between Hanala and Joachim. Final he nodded and turned away, heading back to his desk without anymore. He had seen enough of Joachim for today.

" _So you did have element zero…_ " Joachim's voice called out behind him, taunting Hanala. " _My god Hanala, you're such a liar…_ "

Fortunately the doors closed behind the two of them, sparing Alaan from having to listen to his child flirt with the bastard. Instead he sat down, leaned back and simply stared at where Joachim and his daughter had been standing. His eyes narrowed, his anger cooling down into deep personal disgust. Yet again Galina had been right. He sold his daughter to a monster.

Pouring himself a drink, he activated his omni-tool.

Zorah was gathered around a table with a human, his uniform appearing to be more civilian than the other German uniforms he had seen. They were pushing pieces of paper around the table. It was just the human he wanted to see, it was time for Halid'Zorah to stop coddling him and instead properly make him see reason.

"Zorah," Alaan spoke, catching Zorah's attention. "I've sent him to Krakow. Go and gather Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt and Minister Speer. It's time to tell Hoch."

Halid glanced to Speer briefly before he turned to Alaan and nodded his head, cutting the connection without an acknowledgement to the senior Admiral. Alaan sighed and took a long drink of his brandy. It was time to start dealing with this madness.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

The cathedral was on fire before the last of the fighting had died down. Fighting that lasted for eighteen hours... well beyond any of the surviving SS police unit had imagined so few could be capable of.

The partisans, the assassins; they had fought so valiantly, so steadfast in the face of overwhelming SS firepower. They reminded Skorzeny of the Spartans of Thermopylae. So few stood against so many, and they all died like heroes and killed like animals by the men he considered his brothers. In fact, the fighting was so fierce that Treuenfeld had to call in a total of seven hundred men, tear gas, flamethrower squads and mortars to dislodge the resistance fighters.

Treuenfeld was covering his mouth with a handkerchief as his eyes travelled around the atrium of the Cathedral. The reason why this mess occurred could not stand to breath in the stench of tear gas, fire, blood and the moans of what few wounded remained. Skorzeny could only glower as he sucked back his cigarette, much to the admonishment of the soldiers who were watching him inhale smoke as he inhaled the cathedral smoke and the tear gas with little attention paid.

This was all going into his report. Treuenfeld had explicitly overruled Skorzeny's authority and allowed yet another blood bath against the Slovaks and the Czechs, further driving up the hostility of the conquered people. This collective responsibility doctrine was sheer chaos. There was no way this course could be sustained!

"Herr Obersturmführer," one of the SS men under Treuenfeld's command reported as he approached. "The Cathedral upper levels have been swept and cleared. No signs of the assassins, however the last of the fighters have barricaded themselves in the crypts."

Skorzeny ceased burning holes into the back of Treuenfeld's head and nodded to the rifleman. He grabbed his MP-40 and followed the soldier out of the church and through past the pile of bodies being packed together by soldiers in gas masks, ordered to burn the bodies and what was left of the church.

This was a disgrace, a goddamn disgrace. What the _hell_ had he just done? Well it was over and done with now. Now was not the time to think about him going to hell for blowing up a church, killing upwards to fifty civilians and being directly responsible for the killing of a bloody bishop.

The two of them and a dozen soldiers filing behind the commando investigator, moved with haste down the stairs, smoke billowing from the lower levels of the bullet and bomb blasted cathedral.

Standing down there were more SS men, gas masked, standing near the doors leading to the crypt, they were screaming orders in Czech and Slovakian to any occupants of the room. One of them was battering the heavy wood door with the butt of his Kar 98k, screaming incoherently to the men and what sounded like women screaming from inside as well as they absorbed the undeniably terrifying sound of military men attempting break the door down and screaming away in a mixture of German, Czech and Slovakian.

Yet again, the Slovakian's had dragged more civilians into the fight. That or the women were members of the group, simply frightened by the death sentence imposed upon them for their defiance.

"Open the door and you'll survive all of this! No one needs to die anymore!" Skorzeny shouted through the door with what little Slovakian he knew.

There was no answer from the crypt, instead the muffled Slovakian being screamed at one another, awaiting the German assault. Skorzeny turned back from the door. He was done trying to save everyone. The innocent were dead, those that remained were the assassins or partisans. Skorzeny instead glanced to the soldier's. His face hard as the cigarette dangled precariously from his lip.

"I need twelve grenades, two litres of gasoline and electrical tape," Skorzeny ordered Treuenfeld's men, his teeth gritted as self-directed anger started eating away at him.

The assault troops glanced to one another, their eyes wide. Regardless, they obliged the commando.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was hard to believe that they were back at Krakau Rudolfskaserne.

It was at Hanala's insistence that they went back to the place where the two of them first met in a setting that didn't involve him throttling her and her stabbing him.

Good memories.

For now, Joachim and Hanala were out in the grounds of the barracks, where they first spoke to one another in a way that wasn't on the record for both of their respective governments. This time the grounds were thankfully cleansed of snow, instead they were covered in autumn leaves still falling from trees. Silently Joachim watched as Hanala fingers caressed against a dry, golden maple leaf, touching each of the corners curiously.

Joachim didn't understand her curiosity with such a trivial thing as a dead leaf. Perhaps it was like his curiosity with the aliens he had been in contact with. The thing, though it was a curiosity, somehow she made it look pure, beautiful. The way she cocked her head as her brought eyes looked at the details, the way she slightly leaned in, to sniff the scent of the plant. It was little things that Joachim did not do. Not since he was a little boy.

Hanala pulled back slightly, her eyes glancing up to him as he watched her. She smiled slightly, her bottom lip bitten by her teeth as she finally leaned down and set the leaf back onto the surface of the planet, like she was afraid of it being out of place. She pulled herself back up and looked just over his shoulder. Her eyes grew wide as though it had been the first time she really had noticed it.

She was staring at a tall tree; the branches twisting wildly, skinny branches coated the exterior with leaves that draped all the way to the glass and dirt.

"What is that?" Hanala inquired, her hand reaching out to touch the long dangling branches. She looked absolutely enraptured.

"That's a weeping willow." He explained to her. He watched Hanala mouth the words, a smile on her face.

"It's so... beautiful Joachim..." She whispered to herself, smiling as watched the wind move throw the willows. "Do you think it would grow in North Africa?"

The Obersturmbannführer could only shrug. He was a soldier, not a Dendrologist.

"Unlikely..." he stabbed a guess. Glancing at her carefully, he added. "Have you started to think about living there?"

Hanala did not look at him. She simply smiled slightly.

"Perhaps," She spoke distantly as her hands still grazed against the Willow leaves blowing gently in the wind. "I should be there, Joachim, Help to set up the colonies."

Joachim huffed.

"You could help them by staying in Germany," Joachim recommended to the quarian whom he cared about. "Your people will establish a diplomatic relations with a very curious world. I think you would have a good step up on others."

Noticing Hanala shivering slightly due to how light her fashionable clothing was, Joachim tugged off his winter jacket and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. She glanced up briefly, her eyes thanking him as she pushed her arms into the jacket's sleeves.

"Why Joachim, I think you're _suggesting_ that because you don't want me to go back..." Hanala crooned her face lighting up into a sweet smile.

Joachim pulled his cap back over his head and simply smiled as he watched her finish fastening his heavy winter coat over her body. He thought about his time in the desert. Ignoring being shot at by enraged Englishmen, the heat by itself was enough to turn him off of thoughts of living there for longer than a month at a time.

"You're right... The desert is terrible..." Joachim stated flatly. He noticed the look of disappointment on Hanala's expression and sighed, adding. "We could find a compromise, somewhere warm and neither blistering hot or cold."

Hanala turned away proper from the willow tree and back to Joachim, her smile widened as she reached and pressed her palm gently against Joachim's still healing face. She stepped closer, her nose touching against his.

"You want a _future_ with me?" She enquired sweetly; she looked close to bouncing on her toes.

Joachim shrugged causally, trying his best not to smirk.

"Preferably," He admitted, trying to keep his voice casual. "That or I trade you in for your sister-in-law... I don't mind the child too much."

All Hanala could do was shriek.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

It was nearly midday before the latest gathering finally concluded at the insistence of Claus von Stauffenberg's wife. The Wehrmacht officers were all gathered, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Outside of official conversations, the men of the Heer would rarely try to speak to Heinz on a personal level. There was still a grave mistrust. Between his family and his significantly lower rank, the men of the Heer looked on him with a contempt not unjustified.

Claus von Stauffenberg was a bit better to him. He seemed to have understood, even sympathized with Heinz betraying his brother to men who plotted to murder the Führer and wage war on his brothers in the SS. He tried to best to make it look like it didn't bother him, but every other minute he had second guessed it. This was a hangable offence. Being Reinhard's brother would not save him. Heinz would not have been the least bit surprised if Reinhard hung him personally.

"Do you have a moment?"

Heinz turned away from the gathering and had found Wilhelm Canaris taking a seat next to the disenchanted brother of Reinhard Heydrich. They did not speak at first as Canaris settled himself down; in his hand was a tall glass of brandy. For a man who was in charge of an intelligence agency, he certainly sloshed most of the time Heinz had seen him. Well... this was the second time they had met.

Well it all was a facade. Heinz suddenly found himself being watched as Canaris simply sat there staring at him, reading his facial expression, looking for any sign dishonesty offered by the only SS man in the room.

"You know... I still remember your brother before Himmler had his way with him," Canaris finally spoke, his eyes burning into the floor. "He was a bright naval officer; He would have gone far in the Abwehr if he learned patience, respect... He was not always a hateful man. It was when he met his wife he started his course to all of this mess."

Heinz raised his eyebrow as Canaris took a drink. Reinhard had always had an interest in the National Socialist movement, but Lina was the catalyst? He never really was fond of Lina. She was always so... odd.

"Reinhard was charming; in some ways he still is, well at least before the attack..." Canaris continued, smiling grimly as he set his glass down on the nearest coaster. "Reader dismissed for sleeping with her, and breaking an engagement off with another woman. Lina cleaned him up and introduced him to his new life in the National Socialists. The rest is history... buried with all the Jews he has exterminated so far."

Heinz leaned back into his seat. A woman had helped created the monster, how was that even possible? Still... this was probably just Canaris' opinion. After all he too had targeted Reinhard for service in the Abwehr, before Himmler had decided he was in need of an apprentice of sort.

Himmler, as it turned out, had created his own rival. Reinhard had both the looks of an Aryan and the mind of Himmler. That combination had rumoured to have enraptured the Führer himself, so much so that the Führer had been toying around with the idea of Reinhard becoming the next Führer.

Such a thing was once something to hold his head up in pride. Now he felt nothing but disgust at the concept of that monster, his brother controlling Germany and the new Reich's fate.

"Nina, what's wrong?"

The voice belonged to Claus von Stauffenberg. Heinz and Canaris turned away from each other and noticed Frau Von Stauffenberg standing there, pale as a ghost. She said absolutely nothing as she stepped out of the way and allowing a thin old man with a receding hair line and a toothpick moustache to take her place. His expression bemused as his eyes absorbed everyone in the room, Stauffenberg, Beck, Tresckow, Canaris and finally Heinz.

The old man stepped out of the way and allowed a second men to enter, he was younger, his face less weathered and a full head of hair. Although he stared on the group softer than the elder soldier, his eyes were just as hard. Heydrich knew the look. It was the arrogance of Prussian eyes, looking down on what they considered bumpkin Germans held together solely by the blood that their ancestors had spilled.

"Look at this, Erich," the old soldier nearly mocked. "They continue to wander around in the dark... how quaint."

Beside him Erich von Manstein nodded his head. As the two men paused to nod respectful to Beck, Von Stauffenberg cleared his throat.

"Generalfeldmarschall's...With all due respect, what are you doing here at my home?"

Erich von Manstein rounded back to stare down the one armed, one eyed Heer Oberst.

"Did you think we were going to turn a blind eye to your actions?" Von Manstein countered, his lips curled viciously at the junior officer. "Your treachery is as clear as day. We know what you have planned... killing the Führer."

 _ **"Something has to be done! If you won't do anything, then we are!"**_

The words belonged to Heinz amazingly, who appeared stunned at his own daring. Even an SS man knew better than to talk down to two of the most prominent Generalfeldmarschall's in the Heer.

Erich von Manstein and Gerd von Rundstedt shared a look; both of them appeared somewhat impressed. Finally it was Rundstedt whom arched his eyebrow at Heinz.

"And who are you, _boy_?" Von Rundstedt queried the Obersturmführer. Heinz exhaled very unsteadily.

"Heinz Heydrich," the younger man introduced himself to the Junker tersely, "I know what my brother has been doing. They all need to be stopped."

The admittance that he was a Heydrich caught the old man and the Von Manstein off guard briefly. It did not take long before Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt's shock turned back into cool indifference.

"Interesting..." was all Von Rundstedt had to say about him. "And yes something must be done, but not by the likes of you, not by any of you."

Von Stauffenberg appeared close to exploding at the lack of disrespect toward him in his own home, Beck more so, Von Rundstedt and Von Manstein were junior Generalfeldmarschall's compared to him, but the two newcomers held far greater influence and power. Gerd von Rundstedt simply offered Heinz a smile, as though he was taking pity on an ignorant child. Heydrich did his best not to openly scowl as Rundstedt instead turned to Wilhelm Canaris.

"Admiral Canaris, you are a bit out of place here it seems." Rundstedt addressed the head of the Abwehr respectfully. "Though their intentions are noble, they have limited political and military power over the power vacuum the Führer's death would occur, the amount of backlash. They are reactionaries that haven't clearly thought about the whole picture.

" _Whole picture_?" Heydrich dared to retort the elder soldier so blatantly. "The long and short of it is my brother has set up an extermination program and every commander in the east will likely be implicated if we don't deal with him and the rest of the command!"

Rundstedt's look of arrogance vanished from off of his face. He stood there simply staring at the younger SS reporter. He was trying to get a sense of what the Heydrich brother was made of. Well Heydrich was not going to back down so easily.

"We are here to court Canaris, although I am interested in bringing you along as well, boy..." Von Rundstedt addressed Canaris and Heydrich. He paused and turned to the rest of the group and added, "As for the rest of you, I am going to give you all this one chance. You will fall in line behind my lead, or you will be left behind."

"You will end all silly notions of assassination," Von Manstein interjected, warning the plotters, his eyes narrowed specificity onto Stauffenberg. "The Führer will be dragged before a court, along with whoever survives, anything less than a trial will be viewed as a dishonourable revolution."

Sighing, Generalfeldmarschall Von Rundstedt glanced to his watch and nodded to Generalfeldmarschall Von Manstein.

"With that we shall leave you all to your own devices. Have a good evening…" Von Rundstedt spoke on behalf of the younger commander. "Admiral Canaris, we shall be in touch."

Admiral Canaris, stunned by the words of the two prominent Heer officers could only nod. Satisfied with their interference to the affairs of this anti-Hitler cell, both Von Manstein and Von Rundstedt left, leaving every conspirator in the room stunned into absolute silence.

...

...

 _ **"FIRE!"**_

The crypt door exploded inwards in a deafening explosion that nearly shook the solid foundation of the Cathedral, blasting the door inwards and blowing smoke back into the SS men.

Standing up from their cover from the stairs, Otto Skorzeny stood up, the hammer of submachine gun pulled back as he gestured to the battle group and they too stood up to join Obersturmführer as he approached through the fire and flames spitting throughout the stone floors and what remained of the doorway. With a simple hand gesture the men spread out, their weapons raised and looking for a target.

Pulling one more grenade from the closest trooper's belt, Skorzeny primed it and threw it down the stairs. The grenade exploded, more people screamed and returned a scattering of disorganized fire. It died down, so Skorzeny ducked in, three of the soldiers behind him as they stumbled over several corpses and took cover, firing to cover the rest of the battle group's advance.

Through the smoke a grizzled old man wearing a dark beret and clutching a rag as he tried to run out, an old Mosin-Nagant rushed forward in a state of panic. The whole battle group unloaded on him and they pushed closer through the smoke, pass his twisted up and twitching body.

Moving down the stairs and over a woman still clutching what appeared to be a homemade submachine gun – Sten gun variety - her hand clutching her throat as she struggled to breath out of the bullet hole that tore open her throat. Skorzeny paused briefly, his hand touching against the woman's cheek and moved on, his anger only growing by the second.

Pulling back as the woman slowly died, Skorzeny pressed on down the final steps of the Crypt, where the battle group were now assembled, their weapons pointing off as though they had someone in their collective sights.

Sitting at the end of the crypt, wearing grimy English uniform sat a man peppered with grenade shrapnel, his hand barely clutching his revolver as he looked up to the giant approaching him. In front of him was another man, his head still smoking from a gunshot wound. The assassin still alive tried to swing his hand up and do the same but failed. The pistol was too heavy to manoeuvre. Glaring, Skorzeny kicked the pistol from out of the assassin's hand. Skorzeny handed his submachine gun to the closest soldier and dug into his pocket. He pulled a picket out, provided by assassin's betrayer and stared at it briefly. Through the blood and grim, the resemblance was clear. This was the man who had done it. He was the man who had attacked Heydrich with a grenade.

Before the man could comprehend it, Skorzeny reached down and grabbed him by his scalp, pulling the Czech patriot up to his level. He gestured to the body lying next to the wounded assassin.

"Your accomplish I presume?" Otto found himself growling to the man.

He did not get a reply. Skorzeny did not need one.

"Jan Kubiš...you idiot... you damnable _idiot,_ " Skorzeny hissed as the Czech gasping to breathe now. "You did not have to do this. How else did you think this would have ended? You just had to get everyone killed and for what? Trying to escape a fate you earned the moment you pulled that pin?"

Jan coughed, purposely spitting his blood into the much taller Commando's. Skorzeny did not flinch, nor wipe the blood off his face. He was much to burned out to deal with the Czech's futile defiance. Instead he simply dragged Kubiš out of the crypt. Kubiš struggled to breathe as he tried to form his words, spoken in accented English.

 _"Hey...Heydrich is a butcher, we... we knew what would happen the moment we accepted the...the mission."_ Kubiš breathed out barely able to speak. _"We may have failed but he will fall, just like the rest of you bastards... After everything your lot have done to my country, the hangman's noose is the least you lot deserve."_

Skorzeny buried the feeling that the assassin was right.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

He could not believe this was happening... This madness was not something he had expected.

"Herr Obersturmbannführer, welcome to the show!" The unnamed Hauptsturmführer greeted him.

Joachim did not reply in the slightest. Instead he watched the horror unfolding; he did notice Hanala standing next to him, her hand gripping his so tight that it was hurting him. She was shivering, both confused and greatly frightened by what was unfolding before her very eyes.

They had been there to pick up a shipment of element zero. Instead they were watching the panic and terror of thousands beyond thousands being gathered into the Krakow train yard by a handful of armed men. There was no fight in the panic, just futile screams offered by men and women, as thin as Greta was before her death.

The screaming, oh god, the screaming, how was a human being capable of such high pitch display of fear.

" _How many_?" Was all Joachim could breathe out, his eyes wide as he stared at the thousands being herded into the transport.

They were docile like Cattle to the slaughterhouse... exactly like cattle.

A young man tried to act, tried to do something, but a Polish Jew collaborator intervened and reacted swiftly, his baton swinging out and beating the boy back into the submission the rest of his people were in. The Hauptsturmführer could only smirk at the display offered by the collaborator, wanting to impress his master.

"Fourteen thousand today, slightly less than usual, Obersturmbannführer," the junior officer spoke excitedly to Joachim, his expression shimmering out a grandiose grin at the statement he issued. "Passive little _rats_ aren't they?!"

The Hauptsturmführer could only laugh as he pushed passed the stunned Hoch as he finished pushing the last of the people into the rail cart. With the last of the screaming civilians shoved into the rail carts the Polish police locked the railway carts and stepped back. The SS and the Poles left, a few of them chuckling amidst the screams coming from train as the engines came to life.

Joachim did not realize that he had stopped breathing until his head suddenly went foggy He finally exhaled and inhaled uncontrollably, his body shaking as bad as Hanala's was. Next to him he could hear a small sob escaping the quarian's lips as she too tried to comprehend what in God's name they had just bore witness too.

It was clear as day; the looks from Alaan, his silent rage for Joachim's very presence. There was no element zero to pick up. This was a subtle confrontation with the evil he was apparently complacent in. Together Joachim and Hanala watched in stunned silence as the Jewish collaborators were led away by the guard and the train whistle emitted a shriek. They watched together as fourteen thousand people were shipped off to God knows where.

" _Fourteen thousand..._ " He whispered to himself. His brain was numb as he tried to process the incomprehensible madness of this display of horror.

"Fourteen _thousand_..." Joachim repeated, his voice stunned as he dug for his cigarettes. "Fourteen thousand rounded up like cattle. Fourteen thousand rounded up by less than a hundred men armed with weapons… and not one of them as much as thought about _rushing_ the guards?!"

Joachim exhaled; his eyes hardened his rage resurgence to a level of fury he rarely allowed himself to display. They weren't just victims; they were passive victims going to their deaths. In some cases a few were clearly working to oversee the destruction of their own blood.

Langer had taught him the Jew was reason for all of the suffering his people endured. They were sneaky, conniving little rats who valued survival of themselves before the people they leeched upon. In spite of this, Joachim had come to hate the Jew even more than he did before. Seeing this only reaffirmed his burning malice hatred for them. Everything that had been drilled into him was a lie. The Jew was far too pathetic to be anyone's master. This was a stupid race that deserved this purge.

"How could they be so cowardly… how could a race be so selfish… so stupid… they could have overwhelmed them; they could have fought back and killed everyone!" Joachim suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs, his body shaking violently with furious rage and self-disgust. "They chose not to fight back. How could they simply lie down and let this happen? They would not out even do so to protect their children and wives… and for what exactly, a few extra days of life?! Why would Jews even collaborate with us to process their own kind!?"

Joachim's raging ravings were not paid attention by Hanala; her face was numb as she blankly watched the train pick up steam was now a distant blot on the horizon, the sound of the whistle and the clanking of tracks. Hanala had saw war, the horrors hidden away in that Prothean ship, watched as the man standing next to her was twice severely injured. Yet she pulled through it resiliently She could not believe what she had just seen.

 _"I've seen it all..."_ was all she could whisper.

 **…**

* * *

 **…**

 **Changes: Clean up, drastically increased Joachim's anti-Semitism which was sort of lacking. I thought the change of heart should happen right away, but now I feel it should be much more gradual. Something which instead should happen over the next story.**

 **This is a pretty contentious chapter, especially the last part. I got a lot of angry people lecturing me about Poles being involved in the deportation (Who would have thought this complaint came from Polish readers) and I always wanted to say something but didn't. So here it is:**

 **I didn't live through the war, and more than likely neither did you; but I imagine that occupied Europe was a fucking awful place to be if you weren't the conqueror.**

 **We all got our stories we go by. I had family in Denmark during the war and they told me stories that were disturbing, and as disturbing as they were, I had to remind myself that Denmark was a** _ **friendly**_ **occupation. I cannot even begin to imagine what Poland or and Eastern European nation was like in that era. We all like to pretend that our ancestors would stand up against tyranny, but more often than not, they didn't. Many fought, many died, many tried to live the best they could, and many collaborated for a variety of reasons. Whatever your ancestors did, from resist to remain passive, to collaborate, they did it for what they thought was the best way to survive. I'm not here to pass judgement; we just got to accept that this was a pretty shitty situation all around for everybody who lived through it. In an era where you could get killed in a heartbeat, you just got to do what you got to do.**

 **I hope that makes sense; I know that I released this chapter years ago, but until up to a few months ago I was still getting messages from readers. So, to the Polish readers who understandably get upset by this, I'm sorry for what it is worth. In the grand scheme of things, 70 years ago might as well have been last week.**


	13. October 10th, 1942 Part Two

**Chapter Thirteen: October 10th, 1942 Part Two**

 **...**

"Bill, welcome back to the camp, I trust the journey wasn't too difficult?"

Looking away from the pretty receptionist, William J Donovan turned back and found a man of medium build approaching him, a wide receptive smile offered to his American compatriot. Wild Bill returned it as he moved to meet Sir William Stephenson, or as Donovan affectionately referred to as _'Little Bill'_. Though he imagined the spy preferred his codename " _Intrepid_."

It was not a demeaning nickname as some would assume, quite the contrary. Donovan was very much a friend to the Canadian. In fact it was Stephenson that appealed to Roosevelt to place Donovan in charge of the OSS.

When Donovan had been authorized to send in agents to infiltrate occupied Europe, he found himself needing men who could train them. The English really had no time to train the newly arrived Americans, he could have gotten some aid from Hoover, but J Edger was too obsessed with maintaining control over his South American spy ring to offer much in the way of help. Enter Sir William Stephenson, once more referred to Donovan by the British. He was a Canadian Spymaster who had just set up and was running Camp X, or as new graduates had affectionately called it _"The school of murder and mayhem"._ It was a much more fitting name.

Regardless, as of late, Donovan had considered the Canadian one of his closest friends, and one of his greatest allies. It did not hurt that Stephenson was whispering into both President Roosevelt's and Prime Minister Churchill's ear. He could cut through the contentious bullshit of the two men and get straight to the heart of the matter.

The OSS chief shook William's hand firmly, returning the slight, friendly smile offered to him.

"Not all Stephenson, though I am surprised you summoned me," he returned as he allowed his grip to loosen. "What can I do for you?"

Stephenson huffed a laugh and shrugged.

"To be frank with you, we were both summoned," Stephenson spoke as though it was amusing. "SIS is in a meltdown mode. I don't think they like this new, clever Germany. I heard that Abwehr stopped being an easy target. It's like they're actually trying to be like us. Scary thought."

"Germany moving without being brutes is a terrifying prospect all around," the head of the OSS amended on behalf of the spymaster. "Well, I can't exactly blame Menzies for coming here. What were these month's shipping losses?"

"Touched five hundred thousand tonnes in U-Boat attacks alone, another one hundred thousand to surface raiders; the Gneisenau and the Scharnhorst are hunting in a pair, supported by U-boats against our arctic convoys," the Canadian breathed between his cigarette smoke exhales. "It seems the Kreigsmarine has gotten their act together."

Donovan winced as he exhaled his own cigarette smoke.

"Christ, that's an awful large number."

Stephenson nodded his head gravely in agreement.

"Yes, and after the Laconia incident, Jerries' are now refusing to aid any survivors," the Spymaster muttered, trying not to sound too angry in the direction of the American. Sighing, he added. "I can't exactly blame them either…"

Donovan remained silent. No, it was hard not to see why that was the case. The Laconia incident was a messy affair. U-boat had sunk a transport ship full of civilians and Italian POWs. The submarine captain grew a conscious and decided to take in the survivors. They reported their location to everyone in order to get the survivors proper help. The USAAF got word and sent out a bomber attack. The plane ended up strafing and bombing the survivors, forgiving the sub to escape and leave them stranded.

The Canadian pushed the door open. Standing there was Sir Stewart Menzies, head of the Secret Intelligence Service, or much more commonly known as the MI6. He was talking briskly to several men, aides, agents perhaps. Whoever they were, it was cut off swiftly as Menzies turned to face the two intelligence agents.

"Mister Donovan, Sir Stephenson," Menzies greeted the two men with a barely notice smile. "I apologize for pulling you off of your respective work."

Donovan held up his hand, dismissing the concern with a friendly wave.

"You took the trouble to come, least we could do is greet you."

Menzies nodded and joined the two men. They noticed his terrible state. He was clearly annoyed at the situation at hand and extremely lagged by the long travel from his offices in London. He gestured to the seats, which the two men took. Menzies joined them, slumping into his seat with a groan.

"Something strange is going on in Germany. I do not like what it bodes," Menzies spoke up once more as he looked up to the two men.

Donovan and Stephenson looked to one another wordlessly, something strange brewing in Germany. Well that was fourteen hour flight worthy, dodging the Luftwaffe for the first few hours.

"Gerd von Rundstedt is taking meetings with a variety of military leadership. Men who were on the front line have taken leave to France; they were tailed back to the OBW headquarters." Menzies opened. "My greatest concern is that they're plotting against our greatest allies of the war."

Donovan arched his brow. _Allies_?

"The Soviets?"

Menzies shook his head.

"Hitler and his Nazi Party," He elaborated with the slightest of smirks. "They have been hindering the German war machine since the air war over Great Britain."

"Exactly," Stephenson chimed in, grinning strangely to the American OSS agent. "To think that the high command is plotting a similar coup that Hindenburg and Ludendorff committed, only this time, with a mostly fresh, well-armed and well fed army, things could go from bad to worse in a matter of weeks if the high command assumes to control Germany."

Donovan leaned back into seat. A Nazi free Germany looking to continue the fight against the enemy they were forced to ally against. They had already made headway. With the proper support, the regime was still on the ropes.

"They could stop the war in the west," Donovan reasoned with the Englishman and the Canadian. "They surely understand that the West will inevitably overwhelm them, no matter how well they perform. Besides, their conflict is in the east. If they are willing to destroy the fascist movement themselves, then the Communism should be the enemy we all should be facing."

Stephenson appeared to agree with Donovan's assessment. Menzies, on the other hand was far less enthused by the American's suggestion of collaboration with a potential German Military government against the Soviets.

"No," Menzies flat out stated to the new world intelligence agents as though they were belligerent sons. "The Prime Minister feels it's best to have the two mad men slug it out, and then we destroy the victor. There is no room in the future for a bunch of Prussians in charge of Germany. In all likelihood they will keep the fascism and eliminate the Nazism instead. Germans, especially the older generations abhor democracy. We will have a repeat of like 1918: peace for twenty years."

Menzies exhaled, and looked up to Donovan and Stephenson with an expression of determination.

"Germany must be destroyed..." he concluded. "…completely destroyed."

Stephenson and Donovan glanced to one another. It was hard to believe they were discussing a death of the entire nation.

"Donovan, Stephenson. I want you to organize a team. We must see to Field Marshal Rundstedt's assassination, potentially framed as a Nazi plot," The MI6 director requested. "With any luck they will tear themselves apart, but I will settle with it persuading the conspirators back into silent apathy."

Handing the two men an identical folder each, Menzies nodded respectfully and went to return to his aides, leaving the Spymaster and head of the OSS to themselves. Stephenson opened it ad scrolled through it carefully.

"Such a shame, really, Rundstedt seemed to be one of the decent ones," Stephenson sighed reluctantly, looking up, he added. "Come along Bill, I'll buy you a drink."

Donovan nodded slightly, the folder underneath his arm. A drink with a good friend was sounding pretty damn good at the moment.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

Clutching Hanala's hand, the two of them found themselves approaching her Father's private offices.

There were a dozen or so security personnel, visibly armed, all of them staring at the two of them in utter contempt. Perhaps they knew about the atrocity, perhaps it was because two of their comrades died in Austria, perhaps it was because the primitive was with the prettiest quarian of the fleet. Whatever it was, they were not impressed as Joachim and Hanala moved past them and into a room that smelled surprisingly like cigarettes.

There, standing in the middle of the room was two men, one of them was a Heer officer and the other wore a strange uniform that did not link him to the Wehrmacht, nor did the SS; next to her, Joachim frowned slightly as he let go of Hanala's hand and approached the two of them. The Heer officer turned away and focused his stern eyes on Hoch, making the young man freeze.

He was here?

"And here I told myself I would never have to see you again…" Gerd von Rundstedt finally spoke, his tone almost smirking.

"Obersturmbannführer Joachim Hoch, I suppose you will remember Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt," The voice that belonged to another male quarian introduced. "I also imagine you would also be familiar with Minister of Armaments Albert Speer."

Joachim turned back and found Admiral Halid'Zorah standing in the doorway briefly before sidestepping and finding a place leaning against the wall. Hoch turned away and inspected the slightly pudgy Speer carefully.

What in the _hell_ was this!

His fists in tight ball, he turned briefly to nod curtly to the Generalfeldmarschall and the Minister, who was a much more surprising sight to see than the Generalfeldmarschall. He had allowed Zorah to see Von Rundstedt so that Von Rundstedt would keep his mouth shut about the quarians. Now Zorah was making contact with more and more officials without so much as a sign that he was doing so?

"Generalfeldmarschall, Minister... With all due respect, Zorah, What in the hell is going on?" Joachim started, his teeth gritted as he fought back the urge to shut down at the admiral.

The room opened up and in stepped Admiral Jarva, his face contorted into a scowl. Joachim barely registered Hanala greeting her Father, but Alaan swiftly sidestepped his daughter and moved to join the men standing in the centre of the smoke hazed room.

Look at one another wearily Speer and Von Rundstedt stubbed out their cigarettes and took a seat. Joachim however, having had much more time spent with the Admiral and as he later looked back, the arrogance of youth, remained standing solid , his teeth gritted as he silently demanded a chance to speak. Something that Alaan was not going to give him.

Instead, Alaan gestured to the seat next Minister Speer, who appeared almost amused at Joachim's behaviour. He was sitting pretty; he knew that regardless of what happened, he would come out on top.

"For the sake of this meeting you will sit down at your seat and keep your mouth shut. There will be no debate, no discussion between anyone. I will talk and you all shall listen." Alaan set down the rules as though he was the God himself. "This extends to the other quarians in this room. If I address you, then you are granted a privilege to speak."

Joachim remained standing there, simply staring down the Admiral. He knew exactly how this looked, like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. It did not matter. He had enabled Zorah to plot behind his back, against a Reich and the Führer he had sworn to lay down his life for. It did not matter if this was about a bunch of dead Jews, This was treason! _Sheer treason_!

Still glaring, Joachim relented and took a seat. He could not believe this insanity. His hands wrapped around his knees as Alaan turned his back and moved to lean himself against what looked like a glorified podium.

"I have served in the fleet since I was considered an adult," Alaan informed the trio of humans in front of him. "I was elected, yes, but out of every other Admiral, I am the only one left with any conventional military background. When Jalina'Calis brought this idea of uplifting to life, I had thought it was a good idea, seeing the aggressive strength of your people, I thought that the plan was feasible."

Jarva paused; he looked breathless as he ran his hand through his thick, dark hair.

"Since I have seen Zorah's spy drones showing the extermination, I am rethinking everything," he continued, trying to remain perfectly calm. He gestured to Zorah and added. "But, as Zorah has assured me, it is much too late now... _much_ too late. Now all we can do is figure out the best possible conclusion to this insanity."

Jarva shook his head, disgusted as he silently questioned it. He looked up to meet Albert Speer's blank expression.

"Speer," Alaan addressed the civilian, who inclined his head to listen properly. "Out of the three of you, you have been the only one to show any sort of guilt for the usage of slave labour in the factories."

Speer did not reply; there was no expression that would tell the room exactly what he was thinking. Alaan's slight smile slowly twisting into a scowl, the anger shown still was unperturbed to the Minister.

"To be perfectly honest with you, however, I do not believe for a moment that you feel anything for the victims enslaved in the labour program. That you threw that peon Sauckel into the line of fire so that you could have a reasonable excuse," Alaan continued, his bright eyes narrowed as he stared at the Party official. "I feel that the more logical part of your mind saw the quickest possible escape route all the while having to invest as little as you need to tell men like Zorah and myself that out of the whole government, you are the only man with a soul. Opportunism is your game."

Speer remained silent as he cross one leg over the other. He still looked completely unmoved by the anger. It was spectacular at how unmoved he was.

"As I have told Admiral Zorah, I tried to institute a state of total war involving the utilization of women in the workplace," Speer explained as he gestured to Halid'Zorah standing in the corner. "When that failed, I tried improving their living conditions with what little resources I could spare. Whether you believe me or not is irreverent. I know that it is the truth. I am also aware that you need me."

Speer turned away and glanced briefly to Joachim. Joachim could not help but grin at the sheer audacity the Minister of Armaments was displaying. Joachim imagined being friends and a closest confidant of the Führer left him with an unbreakable nerve.

Exhaling slowly, Alaan turned to face Von Rundstedt, who was distant, but respectful.

"Gerd von Rundstedt, as a military officer, I think that things such as honour, chivalry, professionalism is universal when it comes to the rank you hold." The Admiral addressed the stern faced Prussian. "Yet you have signed off on criminal orders, turned a blind eye to the mass killings apparently occurring just behind your lines when you were serving in Russia. I need to know how you sleep at night knowing that you have allowed precedence to occur?"

Von Rundstedt rubbed the bridge of his nose as though the question was an old one.

"I signed off on the orders explicitly to deal with partisans," was the old Prussian's exacerbated response. "The attacks were growing more frequent and bolder. I had to do something and the late Reichenau came up with a tangible solution, which was quickly countermanded by me."

"That is no excuse for a flat out criminal order, of which you bore as much responsibility as every other man in your position!" he nearly shouted right back to the Generalfeldmarschall.

A hard laugh escaped the Generalfeldmarschall.

"When was the last time you fought an enemy beholden to ideological dogma and sent out to face the machine guns of his enemy or the machine guns of his own comrades? When was the last time you had to secure a supply line? You will have to forgive me, _Herr Jarva_ , but it appears that you have forgotten how messy an all-out war is," he spoke down to the Admiral. "As I recall from Zorah's tales as well as your intentions for my race, you are by no means in a position to judge how _I_ conduct war."

Joachim was by no means a fan of football, but at this point, it would appear that the Germans were leading the quarians 2-0. They needed Speer and they were hypocritical in their attempts to destabilize Von Rundstedt. Alaan turned away from Von Rundstedt and was resigned to look Joachim. They were two men that had a common interest. They even got along at one point.

It appeared that that was history now. He could barely look at the human now, apparently for good reason.

"Hoch... I pity you the most; despite your position in a criminal organization," the Admiral addressed the young man. "You have been lied to and used by everyone. I doubt you had a hand in the atrocities, but I imagine if we had not made contact with humanity, if you continued on, unaltered by my daughter's presence, you would not have had to fight your conscience much to help with the prosecution and slaughter of the minorities of your continent."

Joachim narrowed his eyes.

"That's an assumption," The SS man growled at the quarian leader. "There is a drastic difference between not tolerating them and joining in on extermination."

Turning his head away, Jarva activated his omni-tool. On it was scrolls of quarian text, which Jarva read quietly briefly.

"According to Hanala, you have been in the hands of the SS mentor, one Gerald Langer since you were eighteen," The Admiral spoke, looking up from his device. "I doubt you have any concept of individual thought anymore."

Red in the face as he refused to believe what he was hearing, Langer taught him to be a soldier, not some unfeeling monster. Son of a bitch, he was lucky he was Hanala's Father. Admiral or not, he would have broken his throat for saying that about Gerald.

"It no longer matters, Joachim so don't try to argue it any further," Alaan pressed on, undisturbed by just how terribly Joachim was shaking. "I am granting you this one chance that will only be dead the moment I walk out of this room: Clemency. Any man in the SS above the rank of Sturmbannführer should be picked up and charged with at the minimum for being illegal paramilitary leaders."

Joachim jumped out of the seat and before anyone released it; his hands were wrapped tightly around Alaan's uniform. From behind them, he could hear Hanala shout in protest; He did not see three quarian marines scramble into the room.

"You cannot do this to me!" Joachim roared, now only inches from Alaan, his teeth bared like a wild animal. "You would make me choose between all of this and the only thing I've ever known. You're asking me to sell out everything and everyone. Right down to the closest people to family I have. You're asking me to betray Gerald Langer; he's taught me everything I know!"

Alaan remained still, unsympathetic, his eyes darting to the three security men watching the situation closely. He dismissed them and turned back, doing his best not to flinch under the display of primal rage.

"All the more reason to end it, Gerald Langer is apparently the reason why you ranted in front of me and my family while Hanala was away discussing you with Zorah," The Admiral snapped, reminding the younger human. "Clearly your family wasn't the source of that; it was the ones who essentially adopted you. I'm sorry I have to be the one to say this, but Gerald Langer and his family are _poison_."

In the corner of the room a small gasp escaped Hanala. Joachim turned briefly to Hanala, her face shocked as her Father let slip that once again, Hanala had been manipulating him. Joachim shoved his shaking rage and humiliation to the pits of his stomach. He would deal with her later.

For now, Joachim tried to defend himself and the family that took him in, but was cut off completely by the admiral.

"Yes, Joachim Hoch, I am making you choose," Alaan pressed on, his voice firmly stubborn. "Because my child is now involved in the choice and I will be damned if I allow you to further turn her into a carbon copy of your ideals."

Joachim refused to look Hanala's way; Lying, manipulative _bitch_ … if he didn't love her...

Joachim blinked, unable to believe that he had said that internally. She was a lying, manipulative bitch and he still loved her. How fucked was that.

A hand fell onto Joachim's shoulder. It was the Generalfeldmarschall. For a man who spent most of his life with an expression of stern disapproval. To see Von Rundstedt looking at him with an expression Joachim had seen only once before, when he was addressing his Grandchildren. It was a strange sight to say the least.

"Listen to the Admiral, Hoch," the old man spoke softly to the shaking SS man. "I pegged you as a bright boy who chose the wrong path. It's not too late though. You swore to serve the Fatherland when you swore fealty to Adolf Hitler. The Fatherland needs to survive, Herr Hoch. I will admit that I wanted nothing to do with you, but Zorah is right, we need all the help we can get."

With his machine hand, Joachim reached up and pried the Prussians hand of his shoulder, the old man winced and exhaled sharply as he rubbed his hand.

"With all due respect, Herr Von Rundstedt, stay the _fuck_ out of this," Joachim snarled as he turned back to face the quarian still in his grip.

"Langer can be trusted; he'll play along if you let him." Joachim tried to reason, his voice growing softer than before. "He's a good man, Admiral. I promise you that."

Alaan shook his head.

"We have kept Langer monitored around the clock, Hoch. That _good_ man has reported you and your family's background to one Ernst Kaltenbrunner in order to protect his own name," Alaan snapped right back, making Joachim's eye widen in incomprehensible shock. "Kaltenbrunner is waiting in Vienna as we speak to put you into custody."

Joachim could barely breathe. _Langer... Langer told Kaltenbrunner about... about everything_? No... Langer wouldn't do that. He promised Hoch that the family secrets were long since dead and buried. He was a man of his word, Langer would not have done that, he was incapable of doing that.

 _Was he?_

Joachim loosened his grip on Alaan, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back, his expression lost and confused. He glanced finally over to Hanala; her eyes were misty as she fought to remain as strong as she could.

"Hoch, you need to understand that there will be times in life where you can't make deals to save them all," Alaan spoke softly, his expression sympathetic as he gazed carefully into Joachim's distant blue eyes. "There will be times you will need to make a choice and you will have to live with the consequences. Today is the first of many. So it's either Langer and a criminal regime or us."

Joachim opened his mouth to protest once again, but Jarva shook his head.

"You can choose one," Alaan spoke with an air of finality. "You cannot have both."

Numb, Joachim turned away and took a seat next to Speer, who shot the officer a look of sympathy. Joachim paid it no mind as his machine hand reached up to graze his forehead. He could feel a migraine coming on.

He stared off, looking at nothing in particular. Everything told him to say no. To head back to Vienna, take the interrogation and report this to Langer. He would win back the SS's trust; he would get back into Gerald's good graces. He would be loved again, he would have his family back and everything would be okay again.

From behind him he could feel Hanala's eyes burning into his back. He remembered where he was, and what standing against the quarians would mean. With a shaking hand, he rubbed his eyes and looked up to Alaan finally.

"What do you need me to do?" Joachim finally acquiesced, the world's escaping his mouth, his voice flat, his feelings dead as he realized what in God's name he had agreed to do. He was coward… a traitor now.

From behind him, Hanala lit up as he submitted to their will; he could almost hear her squeal. He could hear her slowly approach him. Her hand touched against his shoulder. Joachim responded by pushing his chair forward and leaned himself into his knees, escaping Hanala's affection.

"There is nothing for the moment," Zorah spoke up, eyeing the cold display curiously. "We will be in contact with you. For now I will bring you up to speed."

Joachim nodded blankly, accepting the offer. With Zorah now in charge, Alaan'Jarva glanced to his daughter briefly, finally allowing a smile to her. It was dropped as soon as he took Joachim's stare.

"You'll forgive me if I leave," Alaan addressed the room. "I have no desire to be here any longer than I have to be."

Exchanging a nod with his fellow Admiral, the father left the room, leaving the room in deep silence. With Jarva gone, Rundstedt and Speer simultaneously reached into their pockets and produced cigarettes. As they did Hanala brought forth a seat and was standing there quietly, as though waiting for permission.

Well, Joachim was not one to mince his words. He turned his head up, his eyes overflowing with rage.

 _"Stay away from me."_

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

As it turned out, Generaloberst Heinz Guderian had been the greatest personal investment he had ever made.

Alexandria had fallen in a lightning duel pincer attacks against the city and the docks, cutting off any chance of retreat back to Malta. Apparently they had just missed those bastards in the SAS, which had broken from out of the 8th Army's encirclement. Hard to believe how clever they were. He had to respect it.

It would make his assault on Malta all the more difficult. He would have to organize the SS to serve as assault troops. He may not have liked them, but they were damn good fighters in urban environments. They were possibly more experienced than most of the men in the DAK. Well, at least the survivors of winter, 1941 wer-

 _"Erwin Johannes Eugene Rommel, put down that pen, close that map this instant and get back into your bed!"_ A shrill cry caused the Desert Fox to shudder. _"How many times do I have to tell that the war can wait, your recovery cannot!"_

Erwin Rommel rolled his eyes and turned back to where Lucie stood in the doorway. Clearly unimpressed to find her ill husband standing at the table in his hospital room, a map spread on it surrounded a variety of reports, draped over his robes, his uniform jacket to give him some sense of authority, even if it was just to himself.

"I have been held up in this room for two weeks..." Rommel shot back softly to his mothering wife. "You'll forgive me if I need a distraction."

Lucie would not have any of that however. She stormed over, tugged the jacket off him and led him forcefully over to his bed. The man had commanded three quarters of a million men in the desert, beaten the British and French into submission at almost every turn and here he was being treated like a child.

It was time like these that he wished to have had a wife who was more along the lines like Utala'Falan... only with more fingers and toes... and had normal eyes... and was human.

Pushing any thoughts of his adviser that were of a less than professional nature, he was thankfully distracted by the door opening. Lucie turned and smiled to Manfred, donning his Hitler Jugend uniform. He looked strangely bright as he joined his Father's side.

"Father there is an SS-Obersturmbannführer here to speak to you," Manfred spoke excitedly. "I would have spoken to you sooner, but we were discussing SS recruitment. He said he could sponsor me!"

Rommel's eyes narrowed at his son's recited revelation. Manfred and he had had this discussion a few times. He was not going to join the Waffen-SS. If he wanted to wage war, he would do in any branch of the Wehrmacht. He would be a soldier, not a political pawn to Himmler. He was already betraying his own ethics to secure Malta, despite them being mass murdering bastards.

Taking a breath he turned to his wife and son and adopted a look of pure authority.

"Manfred, Lucie, I think you should go home." He commanded his family as though they were his subordinates. Noticing his son's protest, he added. "We shall discuss the SS later, son. Go home."

Lucie, though second guessing her husband's order, nodded resignedly to the demand. She knew that there was a time and a place to see to her husband's health. Manfred looked somewhat put out, but obliged his Father. Together mother and Son left the room. Silently, Erwin pushed himself up from the bed and leaned against the frame. His eyes travelled upwards to find a tall young man in a snappy grey uniform standing in the doorway, a briefcase in his hand and his thick eyebrows narrowed.

"May I enter?" he requested, his voice soft and friendly.

Rommel frowned at the remark. He had certainly not expected that. After a moment of inspection of the short Waffen-SS man presenting himself to the Generalfeldmarschall, he nodded and watched as he entered and snapped to a state of attention, offering the Generalfeldmarschall a Party salute.

"Obersturmbannführer Joachim Peiper, 1st SS Leibstandarte, Herr Generalfeldmarschall." The young man introduced himself as he offered his hand out to the Heer man. "I have been requested to serve as your liaison between yourself and Sepp Dietrich."

Rommel scowled at this Peiper. Though his tone was light and friendly, he still stood there tall and proud. What was it with the arrogance of youthful officers in the Waffen-SS? Bred to be stubbornly arrogant? Rommel looked away and pushed himself up to sit properly on the edge of his bed. He ignored the dizzying sensation as he properly inspected him.

Rommel reached and briefly shook his hand before pulling away.

"So..." Rommel spoke up. "Himmler got Operation Herkules approval I take it?"

The boy in the uniform nodded his head curtly. He glanced to the bedside seat and to Rommel, his hands in fists that touched his knees, as though he was sitting at attention.

"That he did," Peiper confirmed as he leaned back into his seat. "You will be in this hospital for another two weeks before you're sent back out. I hope you can recover fast."

Rommel simply nodded and turned away from the SS-Obersturmbannführer. It was unlikely he would, but he could manage the illness if he remained careful, made sure that he did not strain himself. Perhaps he would oblige to be more willing to use Utala'Falan's resources and lead from behind for a little while. Surely he men would not fault him for that.

Peiper smirked slightly, the expression not dissimilar to that of Joachim Hoch.

"I have also been made aware of your... advisers…" Peiper delicately addressed the quarians. "Are they here? I would like to see them."

Rommel stared at the Obersturmbannführer wearily. Yes, of course he would want to see Utala, Utala, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with the Waffen-SS. They were conflicting with her assignment

"One of them returned to their people," the Generalfeldmarschall muttered. "The other is at my private offices."

It was a lie, but one that had be told to the young SS officer. Himmler and Heydrich was assuming that the North African front was the only the only thing they intended to change. Scrunching his lips, Peiper nodded, as though deep in thought. He looked up and met the Generalfeldmarschall's eyes.

"Do whatever you have to do to summon it," Peiper commanded, apparently forgetting that he was addressing a much higher rank. "I will need to understand its motivation before I agree to work with it."

Rommel could only smile to hide his desire to hit the insolent young man.

"Must I remind you that being a liaison does not grant you any authority over me?" Rommel curtly shot back.

The answer was not an answer the SS man wanted to hear.

"No but if you don't want your operations superseded to the Waffen-SS, and then I would suggest you humour me," Peiper flat out stated without any tact. "Did you think you were getting a free reign over my brothers in arms? I won't have you doing the same thing Model did to Das Reich."

Rommel crossed his arms as Peiper fell quiet. His concerns for the lives of his fellow men were respectable to say the least. He had no plans on acting like that condescending asshole, Walter Model.

"I will contact the Admiral on the condition you never speak to my son again," Rommel bargained, his expression neutral as he watched the SS officer debate it. Slowly, Peiper nodded and offered his hand. Rommel took it and shook it carefully.

It would be a cold day in hell before his boy signed on with the likes of them.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

For the first time in a long time, Otto Skorzeny was happy to be home.

The Austrian had preferred the company of likeminded soldiers waging war on the foe, but these past months in the protectorates of Bohemia and Moldavia had left a sour taste in his mouth for soldiering, something he never had ever expected to feel. With the Führer's permission, Skorzeny had been granted the next few months off for rest and relaxation. With any luck it would clear his mind, reaffirm his faith in the party.

Burning churches and killing bishops... it was so... messy. It felt so wrong to do, even if his mission had been successful in the end.

Closing the door behind him, the first thing he felt were little arms clinging around his dirt and petrol stained battle fatigues.

" _ **Papa!**_ " The girl cried happily.

Otto, worn to a numb state could not help but smile at his two year old daughter's look of adoration by his very presence. Slowly, he knelt down behind her, wrapped his aching limbs just under her armpits and held her close to his chest. He rested his chin gently on her shoulder; her little body quaked under the pressure, making the Father grin slightly.

"Hello, my Waltraut," He greeted his child as he glanced to the boy playing with a wooden car. "I see you have a couple companions!"

Skorzeny's scarred face offered the older boy and girl a somewhat creepy smile, well that must have been what Gertrud Kaltenbrunner felt as she hid slightly behind her elder brother, Hansjorg, who sat there in a Hitler's Jugend uniform, despite him being much too young to serve.

"Hello young master Kaltenbrunner, young mistress Kaltenbrunner," Skorzeny greeted the children as he pulled his head off Waltraut's shoulder, emitting a whine from the girl. "I suppose your papa and mother are here?"

Hansjörg glanced to his sister and nodded his head. Skorzeny hid his wince. He would not have minded if it was just Elisabeth Kaltenbrunner making a house call. Ernst's presence meant one thing. He must have needed something big from him.

"Well now, Wal. Think we should go see your mother?" he spoke to his child with the slightest of grins. Waltraut did not reply, in all likelihood she wanted to spend more time with him.

Lifting Waltraut into his arms with the Kaltenbrunner brood by not far behind him, Skorzeny slightly hobbled out, both glad he was off duty and very concerned that that would not last for long if Kaltenbrunner had shown up to his home unannounced.

Ernst and he were friends of sorts. They had been since the outbreak of the war, back when he was trying to join the Luftwaffe, but was considered both too old and too tall to be a part of it. Instead he was assigned behind the lines, away from the action. Ernst decided to test him out on the front line, the rest was history.

He could feel chubby little fingers etch his Mensur scar and smiled. Her fascination with old duelling scar always brought great amusement to him. He tugged off his M43 forage cap and placed over Waltraut's much too small head, earning a wild renewal of giggles from the girl.

The group of children surrounding Otto entered the kitchen where three sat at the kitchen table rather than at the dining room or the lounge, two women and giant. All of whom, turned to face the source of the noise. They all beamed at his presence.

"You're home!" His wife cried out, but stopped midway, her eyes growing wide as she added. "Otto is that blood on Waltraut!?"

Skorzeny frowned, pulled Waltraut of his chest and held her out at arm's length inspecting her as she squirmed furiously to go back to where she was. Sure enough, Emmi was stained in soot and murky drying blood. Skorzeny glanced at the state of his uniform and laughed sheepishly.

"So it is, Emmi. Neither hers, nor mine of course," Otto quickly explained to his wife as she stole Waltraut from his grip. Sighing, he turned to the guests and added. "Herr Kaltenbrunner, Frau Kaltenbrunner, welcome to our home."

Before Ernst could speak, Elisabeth stood up and swooned slightly.

"A lovely one at that," Elisabeth sighed as she took his hands. She paused and with a look of simpering sympathy, added. "Herr Skorzeny, you look as though you've seen a ghost!"

Otto did his best not to look too revolted. Skorzeny could see why Kaltenbrunner drank way too much had a mistress on the side. His wife was a dark haired dog. Her children were lucky they seemed to have inherited her husband's looks.

"It's nothing but exhaustion, thank you for the concern Frau Kaltenbrunner." Skorzeny assured the woman. He turned to Ernst and added. "Routed out a group of Czech and Slovakian partisans, caught one of Heydrich's assassins, the other took his life."

Skorzeny ignored Emmi wincing at the explanation. Kaltenbrunner however clapped his hands in applause, his lip dangling a cigarette as he did so.

"That is good news, Skorzeny, my friend," Ernst praised. He pulled his cigarette out, turned to Emmi, busy simpering over Waltraut's state and added. "Frau Skorzeny, Elisabeth would like a tour of your home if that is not too much trouble."

Skorzeny smirked slightly: Typical Kaltenbrunner bluntness.

Emmi glanced to Otto, who nodded. This wasn't talk that women should have to be subjected to. Emmi turned back, smiling to Frau Kaltenbrunner and together the two wives left their respective husbands to the silence of the room. Unslinging his rucksack and dropping it to the floor, Skorzeny went to pouring himself a drink.

"Looks as though it was a rough day you had," Ernst spoke from behind him.

Skorzeny nodded.

"Sixty seven dead, one survivor Not enough to armaments to go around for all of them, must have collected off the dead and pressed the defence. Brave and foolish…" the Obersturmführer returned monotonously. "You should expect some angry letters from the Orthodox Church. Gorazd's dead, the church burned down."

As disgusted as he was with himself for allowing that son of a bitch Treuenfeld to take charge and reign hell on that place, Kaltenbrunner however seemed not bothered, in fact he chuckled slightly at the predicament Skorzeny had found himself in.

"Just what they deserve the bastards, they are just lucky the Führer has listened to you to reign in Heydrich," Kaltenbrunner returned, his voice somewhat more sympathetic to the Commandos plight. "Half of Bohemia and Moravia would be burning if it were not for your efforts. You're their greatest champion, Skorzeny, a hero to a people who will _never_ respect you."

Skorzeny laughed humourlessly at Kaltenbrunner's assessment of him being the saviour of Bohemia and Moravia. It was a title he really could care less for. Still he would not deny that he was indeed the reason why Moravia wasn't completely cleansed at Heydrich's demand.

The smile on Ernst face slowly vanished as he tilted back his brandy and turned once more top face the Obersturmführer. Ernst instead looked close to contorting into a scowl as he leaned into his seat. The two of them ignored the laughter of their respective wives coming from the lounge.

"There has been an incident of sorts... amongst our more private of secrets..." Kaltenbrunner spoke finally, his voice low, almost a growl. "I presume you remember why you were defending against the SAS."

Otto lit a cigarette and nodded his head. He knew exactly what the Gruppenführer was speaking of. The aliens must have been poking around, doing things that were causing the Reich more and more complications.

"It appears that Obersturmbannführer Joachim Hoch is now considered a security risk. A Socialist Mother, Communist Father and a _Jew_ in the family even." Ernst spoke as though the thought of a man like that was somehow able to get through the ranks of the SS so cleanly was amusing. "We are to investigate that... Himmler has added another charge, potentially revealing state secrets to the aliens."

Amused at learning about that little North German prick's skeletons in his closest, Otto really did not want to get involved with that mess. He wanted nothing to do with this, especially when it came to that son of a socialist bitch, Joachim Hoch.

"What do you want from me?" Skorzeny enquired, doing his best not to sound too exacerbated by the thought. "With all due respect, I don't want anything else to do with policing."

Kaltenbrunner nodded his head empathetic.

"I know and I can appreciate your reservation, but this is a simple grab for you," Kaltenbrunner tried to reason with the commando. "We pick him up when he is done courting his aliens. I want you there if the aliens do something. Apparently Joachim is... _intimate_ with a leader's daughter."

Skorzeny raised his eyebrow, so much for his cross dressing theory. It also came to no surprise that Hoch was disgusting enough to stoop that low, chasing an alien around.

"There is nothing particular special about their race…" Skorzeny rumbled finally as he fumbled for his cigarettes.

Kaltenbrunner looked up to Otto, his face bordering on surprise at the statement offered by the unimpressed, burnt out Obersturmführer. Skorzeny simply sipped his drink before turning back up to face the superior officer.

"Imbuing them as something beyond us is emboldening them to manipulate us," Skorzeny warned Kaltenbrunner, his voice devoid of any feeling. "I decided to test my theory just before the attack. I told a group of their soldiers that I could not respect a man so reliant on technology. Sure enough when one Englishman broke though the defence, he managed to kill three of them. They turned off their defences..."

Skorzeny paused and suddenly found himself smirking in amusement.

"So... they did it out of pride."

The words came from Kaltenbrunner gleefully. Skorzeny broke his mild grin and nodded his head.

"The only thing that separates us from them is technology," he concluded, interestedly. "Strip it away and they're no better than us."

"That is good to know," Kaltenbrunner sighed softly, his hand fixing back his hair. "Anyways, he'll be back in a few hours according to Gerald Langer. I would like us both to go as soon as it conveniences you."

Knowing that Kaltenbrunner, though he may have been a friend, was only offering him the illusion of choice, Otto nodded, his hand gestured to the living room where the woman were gossiping quickly. He really wanted nothing to do with anything this.

"Why don't you and Elisabeth have a couple more drinks," Skorzeny requested of the Gruppenführer. "I'll jump in the shower, find a cleaner uniform."

He gestured to his stained uniform. Kaltenbrunner laughed and stood up, offering his hand to Skorzeny, who took it briefly before Ernst turned and left the room. Skorzeny exhaled slowly and pushed his aching body forward, pulling off his combat harness and leaving it haphazardly on the floor.

Soft, delicate hands fell onto his shoulder and wrapped around his chest. Behind him was Emmi, her chin resting on his shoulder as he had done to Waltraut.

"Otto, are you ill?" Emmi whispered to him. "You seem so... _upset_..."

Her husband did not reply at first. He continued to stare into his drink until finally, he glanced back at her.

"I burned down a church, inadvertently had a priest shot and some of his parishioners killed because the assault team went there looking to kill everyone. How do you suppose I should feel?" He informed her with no malice in his voice, even though his words made her wince.

Skorzeny sipped of his brandy as he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray.

"You tell me how I should feel about that." He repeated to himself. "I wanted it to be a professional grab. Not another blood bath."

He received a muted silence from his wife.

"That... that sounds so terrible, Otto; I'm so sorry…" Emmi whispered to him, her hand reaching out to trace his mensur scar.

Downing the last of his drink, Otto stood from his seat and pulled Emmi's arms from off grimy field jacket. Exhaling, he turned to her and half-heartedly kissed her forehead.

"It does not matter. It's fine… I am just exhausted," he spoke with an air of finality to the subject. "I'm just glad that this Heydrich affair has been concluded. The Führer has promised me time off as soon as this thing is worked out. I have no desire to return to that part of the Reich ever again."

He stomped away out of the kitchen and towards shower. Twenty minutes to himself before he would be back on duty for the Reich.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 _"Wait! Joachim! Come back!"_

The pounding of jackboots on metal was surprisingly loud. Then again, it belong to quite possibly the most enraged man Hanala had ever witnessed in her short life.

Having both received a furious and humiliating lecture from her Father and had just learned that she had unwittingly spent months help her Father and that bastard Zorah trick the SS while they plotted the takeover of the German Reich. His anger was completely understandable considering the betrayal he had just signed onto.

They could have told her, she could have told him. Hanala would have been on board with it, she was completely and utterly against what she had borne witness to not a few hours ago. To... to think that she had killed one of those victims...

Hanala shook her head. How could things get so bad, so quickly? One moment they were discussing a life together in a coy fashion, the next she was chasing him through the _Kareon_ , trying to get something, anything from him.

They turned the corner; there stood Mother, clutching Saleb's hands, both of them startled as the much larger, uniformed human stormed past the two of them. Mother looked close to saying something, but Joachim threw up his hand as though to silence her.

"Another time Frau Jarva," he dismissed the mother curtly as he continued down the corridor back to the drop ships. As Hanala passed by her mother, she shot her an apologetic glance.

 _"You sold me out!"_ Joachim growled, finally addressing her. Hanala winced slightly. His damaged jaw and teeth were visible. The blue tone of the cybernetics wedged into his gums was plainly visible. His teeth cracked jaggedly that were gathered by Fuhrmann were back in his mouth. Hanala shook her head, between the horrors of the deportation still etched in her mind and now this mess, her breathing was so shallow and so rapid she was close to hyperventilation.

"Joachim, I had no clue what Zorah was up to!" she begged him to understand her point of view helplessly. "He told me that I just had to keep you monitored and make sure nothing was passed on to your superiors that were deemed a security risk. I swear to you that I did not know they were plottin-"

Before Hanala could realize it, Joachim had stopped walking; instead he turned right around, his machine arm gripping the top of her dress. She was pulled so close to him that their noses were almost touching.

 _ **"YOU SOLD ME OUT!"**_ he shrieked at her.

His words were screamed so violently, that for the first time Hanala had found herself actually frightened of him. Not even during first contact when he threatened to force her into a contaminated environment did she feel so worried about herself.

Hanala could barely comprehend her mother nearly storming to intervene, Saleb sobbing, more frightened than Hanala.

Her eyes lowered and noticed Joachim's hand trembling, tight in a fist. He looked so close to punching in her nose. To be honest, Hanala felt it was the least she had deserved. Perhaps it would have been easier, certainly easier than having someone she cared for scream at her.

"You _**SOLD**_ me out!" Joachim repeated, twisting the knife of guilt. "You _used_ me, _**AGAIN**_ **!** How _dare_ you act like a victim!"

Joachim let go and took a step away as he turned away, his hand messing through his hair as his machine hand fumbled for his cigarettes.

"I didn't know that there was a plot, Joachim, I swear it!" Hanala repeated; she needed him to understand that. "I just thought that-"

Cigarette in his mouth and already half smoked, Joachim started walking once again, forcing Hanala to scramble to catch up to his long, angry strides.

" _Joachim_!" Hanala found herself begging despite her rationality begging her not to stoop so low. "Where are you going? Can we just discuss _this_? We can work this out, I know that we can!"

The words worked, but not in the way she would have liked them to have. Joachim rounded back on her, his eyes no longer filled with an unquenchable rage. Instead he was strangely calmed. He took a deep unsteady breath and reached out, his hands taking hers. Hanala jumped slightly at the grip, the sheer tension hidden behind the facade of cool.

"Hanala listen to me very _closely_ ," Joachim spoke softly, almost sweetly even. "My words are not up to interpretation. What I say is exactly what I want you to take from them. If you act like ulterior motive to anything I say about this, I will fucking crack you in the face right here, right in front of your whole _fucking_ family; are you smart enough to get that?"

Hanala ignored the scathing threats the enraged Obersturmbannführer was hissing at her and simply nodded her head respectfully. She would hear him out, it was the least she could do. Sighing slowly, Joachim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked weak as he scanned her.

"I..." he started. Closing his eyes for a moment, he added. "I love you, Hanala."

Joachim's sudden declaration made Hanala freeze in place. Did… did he just say that?

The two of them had not breathed those words since they started seeing one another. Three little words that seemed taboo as one waited for the other to admit that they had more than just affection for each other. Keelah, she was thinking she would be the one to break down and say those words, not him!

"I love you and I want there to be a future with you," Joachim elaborated, studying her blank expression. "I don't know what it will look like, nor am I sure if it will happen; but for the first time in my life I have started wanting something that was beyond what others told me I needed..."

Joachim trialled off, he looked numb, almost dead inside. Hanala could feel his remaining natural hand trembling in her grip. He suddenly huffed, biting his lip briefly as he finally looked back up to him.

"For now however, I'm heading back to Vienna. I'm going to face the accusations. Whatever they throw at me, I'll be the one to deal with it," Joachim continued his voice no longer vulnerable and instead returned to a voice that told Hanala that he back in command. "You will not come with me. You will not follow me. You will not even _fucking_ contact me. I need time to get over this. You have made me look like such a stupid cunt, letting you manipulate me again."

"Joachim, I- I was..."

The sweet lost look on his face vanished completely. His anger at her and the whole mess he was now entrapped in was present once again. He reached out and grabbed her by the jaw, squeezing her mouth shut.

"No Hanala, don't you daresay you were following orders." Joachim hissed; smoke filtering from his mouth and nose. "Look at what that line has gotten me into. Apparently I am now a part of the collective guilt for a race of cowards who do not fight for their own goddamn survival. I now have no other choice than to betray my family, men I have fought and bled for, watched die for me. I have to like to the closest thing to a Father and Mother I have ever had; and now that's probably fucking over."

He let go of her as he once again trailed off, his dark look breaking into a wide, mocking grin as he suddenly laughed in a way that sent shivers down the quarians spine. To think that she thought his anger was scary, the near insane mirth was so much more frightening.

"But hey, I should just take a few fucking pages out of your book. Deceive and trick everyone there is for my own benefit," Joachim finally got out, his face still contorted into a wild smile. "I could go far if I had half your talents..."

Leaving Hanala stunned, Joachim pushed past her moving down the final few meters to the waiting transport. She wished her mind was working, she would have begged him to stay, to talk this out. Asking that question was all she could manage to speak.

"Joachim... you _love_ me?" Hanala whispered, finding her voice once more as she stepped closer to him. Her hand reached out to shakily graze his chest.

Dropping his cigarette on the deck and stubbing it out with his boots, Joachim looked back up, his expression neutral as he shrugged.

" _Fucked_ if I know why," Joachim he uttered back to her. "Until we meet again, Hanala'Jarva..."

With a nod of his head, he turned to enter the shuttle bay where Speer and Rundstedt were waiting to board their shuttle back to wherever they were heading back to. He paid no mind to Hanala admitting that she loved him; he paid no mind to her pleading looks, so alien considering how stubborn she was.

It would be three months before they saw one another again.

 **...**

* * *

 **...**

 **Changes: clean up, altered the ending a bit. Added an explanation of what the Laconia incident was, and for the first time I added swearing instead of retracting it. Felt it called for it.**

 **Another story down, I'll get the next story up right away. On a role here.**


End file.
